\ 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


UNSUNG  HEROES 


Copyright  1921 
By  Elizabeth  Ross  Haynes 


UNSUNG  HEROES 

BY 

ELIZABETH  ROSS  HAYNES 


NEW  YORK 
DU  BOIS  AND  DILL,  PUBLISHERS 

1921 


Dedicated 

to  my 

Alma  Mater 

Fisk  University 

Nashville,  Tennessee 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

FOREWORD 7 

I  FREDERICK  DOUGLASS        ...  11 

II  PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR      .      .  41 

III  BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON        .      .  63 

IV  HARRIET  TUBMAN        ....  87 
V  ALEXANDER  S.  PUSHKIN         .      .  105 

VI  BLANCHE  KELSO  BRUCE    .      .      .  117 

VII  SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  .      .  127 

VIII  BENJAMIN  BANNEKER       .      .      .  153 

IX  PHILLIS  WHEATLEY     ....  167 

X  TOUSSAINT  L'OlJVERTURE          .        .  181 

XI    JOSIAH  HENSON 191 

XII  SOJOURNER  TRUTH      ....  209 

XIII  CRISPUS  ATTUCKS        ....  229 

XIV  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS     ....  237 
XV     PAULCUFFE 249 

XVI  ALEXANDER  CRUMMELL    .      .      .  263 

XVII  JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON  269 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

FREDERICK  DOUGLASS 10 

C.  Thorpe 

BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON 62 

C.  Thorpe 

SHE  TOLD  HER  HEARERS  THRILLING  STORIES  86 

Laura  Wheeler 

"MY  CHILDREN,,  CHOOSE  YOUR  DUTY"      .        .       180 

Marcellus  Hawkins 

CRISPUS  ATTUCKS  SPOKE  AGAINST  THE 

BRITISH  SOLDIERS 228 

Hilda  Rue  Wilkinson 

PAUL  CUFFF/S  BRIG 248 

C.  Thorpe 


Foreword 

IN  casting  about  for  stories  to  read  to  a  little 
friend,  one  day  I  drew  from  the  Library 
"My  Life  and  Times"  by  Frederick  Douglass. 
I  knew  that  the  book  was  written  for  grown-ups 
and  that  it  contained  many  pages,  but  I  did  not 
know  that  in  it  was  bound  up  a  world  of  inspira 
tion;  for  I  had  never  read  the  book,  although  I 
had  spent  five  years  in  college  and  university. 

This  story  and  the  other  stories  in  "Unsung 
Heroes",  telling  of  the  victories  in  spite  of  the 
hardships  and  struggles  of  Negroes  whom  the 
world  has  failed  to  sing  about,  have  so  inspired 
me,  even  after  I  am  grown,  that  I  pass  them  on 
to  you,  my  little  friends.  May  you  with  all  of 
your  years  ahead  of  you  be  so  inspired  by  them 
that  you  will  succeed  in  spite  of  all  odds,  that 
you  will 

"Go  on  and  up !   Our  souls  and  eyes 
Shall  follow  thy  continuous  rise ; 
Our  ears  shall  list  thy  story 
From  bards  who  from  thy  root  shall  spring, 
And  proudly  tune  their  lyres  to  sing 
Of  Ethiopia's  glory." 

Washington,  D.  C.,  THE  AUTHOR. 

April  10, 1921. 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS 


FEEDERICK  DOUGLASS 


Chapter  I 

FREDERICK  DOUGLASS 

THE  ORATOR  AND  ABOLITIONIST 
1817-1895 

TUCKAHOE  is  the  name  of  a  plantation  on 
the  eastern  shore  of  Maryland.  It  was  once 
known  for  its  worn-out,  flat,  sandy  soil;  for  its 
old,  poorly-kept  fields  and  fences,  and  for  its 
stupid  and  ignorant  people.  On  one  side  of  this 
plantation  flowed  a  lazy,  muddy  river,  bringing 
with  it,  as  some  believed,  ague  and  fever. 

At  some  distance  from  the  river  bank  stood 
rows  of  log  cabins  suggestive  of  a  quaint  village 
whose  only  streets  are  the  trodden  footpaths  and 
whose  only  street  lights  are  the  moon  and  the  stars. 

The  cabins  all  looked  very  much  alike  except 
one  which  stood  off  to  itself.  Each  one  of  these 
cabins  had  a  door  but  no  window,  a  dirt  floor,  a 
fence-rail  loft  for  a  bed,  and  a  ladder  by  which  to 
reach  it.  And  each  had  a  clay  chimney  with  a 
broad  open  fireplace  and  just  a  block  of  wood  at 
the  door  for  steps.  In  this  little  log-cabin  village, 
called  "the  quarters"  lived  the  slaves. 

Nearly  every  morning,  just  at  peep  of  day,  the 
cabin  doors  were  unfastened  and  people  began  to 
stir  until  "the  quarters"  were  almost  like  a  bee- 


12  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

hive.  Men,  women,  and  children  large  enough  to 
work  were  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  fields  nearby. 
Some  with  their  smoking  clay  or  corn-cob  pipes 
in  their  mouths  were  jumping  astride  the  bare 
backs  of  mules  or  horses.  Some  were  beginning 
to  ride  off  without  a  sound  other  than  that  of  the 
jingle  of  gear  and  the  beat  of  hoofs.  Still  others 
followed. 

Now  and  then  a  woman  hastened  to  the  lone 
cabin  which  stood  off  from  "the  quarters",  pull 
ing  by  the  hand  a  child  or  two,  or  carrying  them 
in  her  arms.  She  tarried  at  this  cabin,  presided 
over  by  "Grandma"  Betsy  Bailey,  just  long 
enough  to  leave  her  little  children  and  then 
hastened  on  to  the  field. 

Grandma  Betsy,  an  active  old  fisherwoman, 
fed  the  children  just  as  a  man  feeds  his  pigs.  After 
placing  the  mush  in  a  little  trough,  she  set  the 
trough  either  down  on  the  dirt  floor  or  out  in  the 
yard.  Then  she  waved  her  hand  to  the  children, 
who  made  a  rush  for  the  trough,  each  with  a  little 
piece  of  board  or  an  oyster  shell  in  his  hand  for 
a  spoon.  Some  of  them,  without  seeming  to  rush, 
tried  to  eat  faster  than  the  others,  but  Aunt  Betsy 
had  only  to  cut  a  sharp  eye  at  such  offenders. 

She  never  thought  of  trying  to  call  any  one  of 
them  by  name  except  her  own  grandson,  Freder- 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  13 

ick  Augustus  Washington  Bailey.  Children  on 
the  Tuckahoe  plantation  were  not  supposed  to 
have  names  or  to  know  about  their  ages.  Neither 
were  they  supposed  to  know  the  names  of  the 
days  of  the  week  or  the  months  of  the  year,  or  to 
know  anything  at  all  about  time. 

Frederick  thought  much  of  Grandma  Betsy's 
cabin,  of  the  eating  trough,  of  his  bed  in  the  loft 
by  her  side,  and  of  the  potato  hole  in  front  of  her 
cabin  fireplace.  Little  thought  of  his  age  or  of  any 
separation  from  his  grandma  ever  entered  his 
mind.  Grandma  Betsy,  however,  spent  a  part  of 
each  day  thinking  especially  of  his  age  and  the 
time  when  he  would  be  separated  from  her. 

She  had  already  begun  to  picture  the  circum 
stances  of  their  separation.  One  day  she  said  to 
herself  as  she  sat  patting  her  foot:  "Freddie  is 
just  about  seven  years  old  now.  I  know  old  Mas 
ter  will  soon  be  sending  some  one  down  from  the 
'Great  House'  for  him".  She  waited  and  looked 
and  listened  for  days  but  no  one  came.  She  was 
beginning  to  wonder  where  old  Master  was,  when 
suddenly  one  Friday  afternoon  he  came  down 
himself  and  gave  orders  for  Frederick  to  be  car 
ried  away  the  next  day.  Grandma  Betsy  simply 
curtsied,  saying,  "Yes  sir,  Master,  yes  sir". 

On  this  particular  afternoon  she  was  engaged 


14  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

in  mending  her  net  for  fishing.  She  finished  her 
task  at  the  close  of  the  day,  and  early  that  night 
she  climbed  the  ladder  leading  to  the  bed  in  the 
loft  of  the  cabin  with  tears  trickling  down  her 
cheeks.  She  lay  down  on  her  bed  by  the  side  of 
Frederick,  but  instead  of  going  to  sleep  she  lay 
there  thinking,  thinking,  thinking.  Finally  the 
comforting  words  of  an  old  plantation  melody 
came  to  her  mind.  She  began  singing  it  to  herself 
just  above  a  whisper: 

A  little  talk  with  Jesus  makes  it  right,  all  right. 
A  little  talk  with  Jesus  makes  it  right,  all  right. 

Troubles  of  every  kind — 

Thank  God,  we  always  find 
A  little  talk  with  Jesus  makes  it  right. 

Over  and  over  again  she  sang  it  until  she  dozed 
off  into  a  light  slumber.  Suddenly  the  straws  on 
her  rail  bed  seemed  to  stick  her  and  the  hard  rails 
seemed  to  push  up  through  the  rags  and  hurt  her 
sides.  She  turned  and  twisted  and  opened  her 
eyes,  but  refused  to  admit  to  herself  that  she  was 
restless  until  again  she  began  to  sing  over  and 
over  the  melody : 

A  little  talk  with  Jesus  makes  it  right,  all  right. 

The  singing  finally  died  away  and  all  was  quiet. 

The  next  morning  Grandma  Betsy  rose  even 

earlier  than  usual  and  went  about  her  work.  Fred- 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  15 

erick  also  soon  tumbled  down  from  the  loft  with 
out  any  thought  of  a  bath  or  of  changing  his  shirt, 
for,  like  the  other  slave  boys,  he  dressed  just  once 
a  week  and  that  was  Saturday  night  when  he  took 
his  bath. 

On  this  Saturday  morning  Grandma  Betsy 
turned  about  more  rapidly  than  usual  and  was 
therefore  soon  ready  to  start  on  her  journey.  With 
a  white  cloth  on  her  head  tied  in  turban  style  and 
the  stem  of  her  clay  pipe  between  her  teeth,  she 
walked  out,  pulled  and  fastened  the  door  behind 
her  and  stretched  out  her  hand  to  Frederick  who 
was  sitting  on  the  door-step.  "Come,  Freddie,  we 
are  going  away  today",  said  she. 

He  looked  at  her  and  asked,  "Where  are  we 
going,  Grandma?" 

She  simply  shook  her  head,  saying  again, 
"Come  on  son". 

Accustomed  to  obeying,  he  arose  and  grasped 
her  hand  but  seemingly  more  reluctantly  than 
usual.  Out  they  went. 

After  a  time  Frederick  began  to  stumble  along 
as  the  journey  lengthened,  murmuring,  "I  am 
tired,  Grandma". 

Grandma  Betsy  stopped  and  squatted  down. 
"Get  on  my  shoulders,  son",  she  said.  Freddie 
stepped  behind  her,  placed  his  little  arms  around 


16  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

her  neck  and  with  her  assistance  scrambled  up 
on  her  shoulders  with  his  legs  about  her  neck. 
Not  another  word  was  spoken.  Grandma  Betsy 
rose  with  her  burden  and  trudged  on  until 
Freddie  begged  her  to  let  him  walk  again  so 
that  she  might  rest.  Finally  she  squatted  down, 
and  Freddie  with  his  tired  little  limbs  almost  fell 
off  her  shoulders. 

Grandma  Betsy  stretched  out  both  her  arms. 
"Whew!"  she  said. 

Freddie  looked  at  her  then  and  placed  his  arms 
around  her  as  best  he  could,  saying  tenderly, 
"Grandma  Betsy,  was  I  heavy?  Are  you  tired? 
I  am  so  sorry". 

They  continued  the  journey  until  they  reached 
the  home  of  Frederick's  new  master  on  a  plantation 
twelve  miles  away.  Immediately  they  went  into 
the  kitchen  where  there  were  children  of  all  colors, 
besides  Aunt  Katie,  the  cook.  The  children  asked 
Frederick  to  come  out  and  play  with  them  but  he 
refused  until  his  grandmother  urged  him  to  go. 
They  went  out  behind  the  kitchen.  Frederick 
stood  around  at  first  as  if  afraid  of  the  other  chil 
dren.  Then  he  backed  up  against  the  kitchen  wall 
and  stood  there  as  if  he  thought  the  kitchen  might 
run  away  from  him.  While  he  stood  there  Grand 
ma  Betsy  tip-toed  out  unseen  by  him. 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  17 

One  of  the  children  came  up  to  him  and  said, 
"Fred,  Fred,  your  grandma's  gone!"  Frederick 
ran  into  the  house  as  fast  as  he  could  and  looked 
all  around  for  her.  Not  seeing  her,  he  ran  a  little 
way  down  the  road  and  called  her.  She  did  not 
answer.  Then  he  fell  down  and  began  to  kick  and 
cry.  His  brother  and  two  sisters  who  had  formerly 
been  brought  there  tried  to  pet  him,  and  to  coax 
him  to  eat  some  apples  and  pears. 

"No",  said  he,  still  kicking,  "I  want  Grandma". 
There  he  lay  until  nightfall,  when  Aunt  Katie 
came  out  and  told  him  he  must  come  in.  He  went 
in  and  lay  down  in  the  corner,  crying  and  begging 
to  be  taken  back  home.  The  trip  that  day,  how 
ever,  had  made  him  so  tired  that  he  soon  fell  asleep. 

The  next  morning  he  asked  Aunt  Katie  when 
Grandma  Betsy  was  coming  back  to  get  him.  She 
rolled  her  eyes  and  cast  such  fiery  glances  at  him 
that  Frederick  understood  and  hushed.  He  had 
thought  of  asking  for  ash-cake  like  that  which 
Grandma  Betsy  used  to  make,  but  her  look  drove 
that  out  of  his  mind. 

Aunt  Katie  was  not  long  in  giving  Frederick 
to  understand  that  he  was  to  drive  up  the  cows 
every  evening,  keep  the  yard  clean,  and  wait  on 
Miss  Lucretia,  his  master's  daughter.  The  very 
first  time  Frederick  went  on  an  errand  for  Miss 


18  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Lucretia  she  smiled  and  gave  him  a  piece  of  but 
tered  bread.  He  smiled,  too,  from  ear  to  ear, 
bowed  and  ran  off  eating  and  wondering  how  she 
knew  that  he  was  so  hungry.  He  always  ran  smil 
ing  whenever  she  called  him.  And  when  hunger 
pinched  his  little  stomach  hard,  he  nearly  always 
crept  under  Miss  Lueretia's  window  and  tried  to 
sing  like  Grandma  Betsy : 

A  little  talk  with  Jesus  makes  it  right,  all  right. 
A  little  talk  with  Jesus  makes  it  right,  all  right. 

He  knew  the  next  line  but  scarcely  ever  had 
chance  to  sing  it  before  the  window  was  opened 
and  a  piece  of  buttered  bread  was  handed  out 
to  him. 

One  evening  during  his  first  summer  on  this 
plantation  the  rain  poured  down  seemingly  in 
sheets.  He  could  not  stand  under  the  window  and 
try  to  sing  and  he  had  in  some  way  offended  Aunt 
Katie.  She  stood  at  the  kitchen  table  cutting  bread 
for  the  other  children  and  occasionally  brandish 
ing  the  knife  at  Frederick,  saying,  "I'll  starve 
you,  sir".  He  sat  there  watching  the  other  chil 
dren  eat,  watching  Aunt  Katie  and  still  keeping 
one  eye  on  an  ear  of  corn  on  the  shelf  by  the  fire 
place.  He  did  not  lose  his  first  opportunity  to 
seize  it  and  slip  a  few  grains  off  the  cob  into  the 
fire  to  parch. 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  19 

While  he  sat  there  easing  the  parched  grains 
of  corn  into  his  mouth,  to  his  great  joy  in  walked 
his  own  mother  with  a  few  cakes  for  him.  She 
caressed  him  and  asked  him  several  questions. 
Seeing  how  nearly  starved  he  was,  she  shook  her 
fist  at  Aunt  Katie  and  laid  down  the  law  to  her. 
Then  she  tarried  with  her  child  for  the  last  time, 
and  even  then  just  a  short  while — for  she  knew 
that  she  must  again  walk  the  twelve  miles  back 
to  her  home  before  the  overseers  came  out  and  the 
horn  was  blown  for  field  time. 

Aunt  Katie,  remembering  that  stormy  evening 
with  Frederick's  mother,  said  to  him  one  day, 
"Come,  Fred,  and  get  a  piece  of  bread.  Dip  it 
into  this  pot  liquor".  He  curtsied  first,  then 
eagerly  taking  the  bread,  he  walked  up  to  the  pot 
and  dipped  it  and  his  hand  as  well  into  the  greasy 
broth.  For  a  few  minutes  he  looked  as  though  he 
would  eat  both  bread  and  hand  but  the  rattling 
of  the  dishes  in  his  master's  dining-room  attracted 
his  attention.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
smacked  his  greasy  lips  and  bowed  himself  out  of 
the  kitchen  and  around  to  the  side  door  of  the 
dining-room. 

Just  as  he  reached  the  door  of  the  dining-room, 
a  big,  grey  cat  slid  in.  Frederick  slid  in  too.  Im 
mediately  they  began  to  scramble  for  the  crumbs 


20  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

under  the  table.  As  soon  as  these  were  gobbled  up, 
Frederick  rushed  into  the  yard  to  get  some  of  the 
bones  and  scraps  which  the  maid  had  just  thrown 
out  for  "Nep",  the  dog. 

Clad,  winter  and  summer,  in  just  a  tow  sack 
shirt  scarcely  reaching  to  his  knees,  Frederick 
was  as  scantily  clothed  as  he  was  fed.  On  cold 
winter  days  he  often  stood  on  the  sunny  side  of 
the  house  or  in  the  chimney  corner  to  keep  warm. 
On  cold  nights  he  crept  into  the  kitchen  closet 
and  got  into  the  meal  bag  headforemost.  In  addi 
tion  to  these  hardships,  he  often  saw  his  own  rela 
tives  and  others  cruelly  beaten.  Burdened  with 
such  experiences,  his  childish  heart  began  to  long 
for  another  place  to  live. 

One  day,  while  he  was  in  this  unhappy  frame 
of  mind,  Miss  Lucretia  called  him,  saying  that 
within  three  days  he  would  be  sent  to  Baltimore, 
to  live  for  a  while  with  her  brother  and  sister,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hugh  Auld.  "You  must  go  to  the  creek 
and  wash  all  the  dead  skin  off  of  your  feet  and 
knees,"  she  said  to  him.  "The  people  in  Baltimore 
are  clean.  They  will  laugh  at  you  if  you  look 
dirty.  You  can  not  put  on  pants  unless  you  get 
all  the  dirt  off",  she  added.  Frederick  made  him 
self  busy,  spending  most  of  the  three  days  in  the 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [21 

creek,  and  part  of  the  three  nights  jumping  up 
to  see  if  the  boat  was  ready  to  go. 

The  following  Saturday  morning  early,  the 
boat  sailed  out  of  the  Miles  River  for  Baltimore. 
It  was  loaded  with  a  flock  of  sheep  for  the  market, 
and  a  few  passengers,  among  whom  was  Freder 
ick.  After  giving  the  old  plantation  a  last  look, 
as  he  thought,  he  made  his  way  to  the  bow  of  the 
boat  and  spent  the  remainder  of  the  day  looking 
ahead.  They  arrived  in  Baltimore  on  Sunday 
morning.  After  Frederick  had  assisted  in  driving 
the  sheep  to  the  slaughter-house,  one  of  the  boat 
hands  went  with  him  to  the  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Auld. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Auld  and  their  little  son,  Thomas, 
met  Frederick  at  the  door  and  greeted  him  heart 
ily.  "Here  is  your  Freddie  who  will  take  care  of 
you,  Tommy.  Freddie,  you  must  be  kind  to  little 
Tommy",  said  Mrs.  Auld.  Frederick  smiled  and 
nodded  his  head.  Thomas  at  once  took  hold  of 
Frederick's  hand  and  seemingly  wished  to  hurry 
him  into  the  house  to  see  his  toys. 

The  children  played  until  they  heard  Mrs.  Auld 
begin  to  read.  Frederick  stopped  playing  to  listen. 
Thomas  said,  "Oh,  come  on,  Freddie,  let's  play. 
That  is  just  Mother  reading  the  Bible.  She  reads 
it  that  way  every  day  when  Father  is  away". 


22  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

"The  Bible?  What  is  that?"  asked  Frederick, 
looking  at  Thomas.  Little  Thomas,  surprised  be 
cause  Frederick  had  never  seen  a  Bible,  ushered 
him  into  the  room  where  his  mother  was  reading. 
Thomas  knew  better  than  to  interrupt  his  mother 
while  she  was  reading,  but  as  soon  as  she  stopped, 
he  told  her  why  he  had  brought  Frederick  in.  Mrs. 
Auld  showed  him  the  Bible,  asked  him  a  few  ques 
tions  and  sent  them  both  out  to  play. 

Days  passed,  but  not  one  when  Mrs.  Auld 
failed  to  read  her  Bible.  Frederick  became  so  in 
terested  in  her  reading  that  one  day  he  went  to 
her  and  asked  her  to  teach  him  to  read.  She 
paused  for  a  while  as  if  in  doubt,  then  she  braced 
up  and  gave  him  a  lesson.  At  the  end  of  the 
lesson  his  little  heart  seemed  so  full  of  joy  and 
thanks  that  he  scarcely  knew  what  to  say  or  do. 

Mrs.  Auld,  seeing  the  situation,  said,  "Run 
along  now,  Frederick.  I  know  you  are  grateful. 
Come  in  at  this  time  every  day  for  your  lesson". 
He  made  his  way  out  and  every  day  for  several 
days,  with  beaming  face,  he  went  in  for  his  lesson. 

One  day  when  Mr.  Auld  came  in  and  saw  his 
wife  teaching  the  boy,  he  said  to  her  in  great  sur 
prise,  "My  dear,  are  you  really  teaching  that  boy 
to  read?  Don't  you  know  he  will  learn  to  write? 
Then  he  will  write  a  pass  and  run  away  with  him- 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  23 

self".  She  pleaded  for  Frederick,  but  Mr.  Auld 
beat  upon  the  door-facing,  saying  as  he  went  out, 
"I  will  have  no  more  of  this  nonsense.  This  must 
be  the  end  of  it".  Mrs.  Auld  dismissed  Frederick 
and  seemingly  repented  of  her  mistake ;  but  Fred 
erick  had  learned  his  alphabet. 

Soon  he  managed  to  get  a  Webster's  spelling- 
book,  which  he  always  carried  with  him  when  sent 
on  errands.  After  this,  every  time  he  went  out, 
he  made  new  friends  until  the  very  boys  who  at 
first  pounced  upon  him  at  every  corner,  now  be 
gan  to  help  him  with  his  spelling  lessons.  One 
day  while  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  shipyard,  and 
just  after  he  had  gotten  a  spelling  lesson  at  the 
corner,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  boys  might 
also  help  him  to  learn  to  write. 

While  he  was  in  the  shipyard,  he  watched  the 
carpenters  finish  pieces  of  timber  for  the  different 
sides  of  the  ships  and  mark  each  piece.  For  in 
stance,  a  piece  for  the  larboard  side  was  marked  L 
and  a  piece  for  the  starboard  side  was  marked  S. 
He  soon  learned  for  what  these  letters  stood  and 
how  to  make  them.  When  he  went  out  on  the 
next  errand,  he  said  to  the  boys,  "You  can't  make 
as  good  an  S  as  I  can  make".  Such  a  challenge 
had  to  be  met.  They  all  dropped  down  on  their 
knees  and  began  the  contest  by  making  letters  on 


24  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

the  pavement.  Frederick  watched  closely  and 
learned  to  make  for  the  first  time  many  other 
letters.  He  kept  at  it  until  he  learned  to  make 
them  all. 

Then,  thinking  that  he  should  practice  on  these 
letters  and  learn  to  make  them  well,  he  picked 
out  a  flour  barrel,  without  letting  any  one  know 
what  he  was  doing,  and  carried  it  one  night  into 
the  kitchen  loft  where  he  slept.  He  turned  it  up 
side  down  and  propped  himself  up  to  it  and  used 
it  as  his  desk.  Knowing  where  little  Tommy 
Auld's  old  copy-books  were,  he  got  one  out  the 
next  day  and  took  it  to  the  loft.  That  night  while 
the  Aulds  were  asleep  he  sat  in  the  loft  and  wrote 
between  the  used  lines  of  the  old  copy-book. 

His  desire  to  learn  led  him  into  strange  paths. 
One  day  as  he  trotted  along  on  his  usual  errand, 
with  the  rain  pelting  him  in  the  face  and  over  the 
head,  he  thought  he  spied  something  in  the  gutter. 
He  stopped  suddenly  and  peeped  further  into 
that  filthy  gutter.  There  lay  some  scattered  pages 
of  the  Bible.  He  picked  them  out  of  the  rubbish, 
took  them  home  and  washed  and  dried  them 
to  read. 

For  days  after  that,  when  he  went  out,  he  kept 
his  eyes  on  the  gutters  for  something  else  to  read. 
Finding  nothing  there,  he  bought  a  box  of  shoe 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  25 

polish  and  a  brush  which  he  always  took  along  on 
his  errands.  Whenever  he  passed  any  one  with 
rusty  boots  or  shoes  on  he  said,  "Shine,  Mister, 
shine?"  By  shining  boots  and  saving  up  carefully, 
his  pennies  grew  and  grew  until  he  had  fifty  cents. 
With  this  he  bought  a  book  called  the  "Columbian 
Orator",  which  he  read  over  and  over  again. 

At  the  end  of  Frederick's  seventh  year  in  Bal 
timore,  news  came  that  he  would  be  taken  back 
to  the  plantation  on  the  Eastern  Shore  on  account 
of  the  death  of  his  old  master.  This  news  came  as 
a  shock  especially  to  him,  Mrs.  Auld  and  Thomas. 
The  three  of  them,  fearing  that  he  might  never 
return,  wept  bitterly.  He  was  away  only  one 
month  before  he  was  sent  back  to  Baltimore. 
Another  change,  however,  soon  took  place  which 
called  him  back  again  to  the  Eastern  Shore,  where 
he  remained  for  two  years. 

He  was  now  about  sixteen  years  old,  and  had 
to  work  very  hard  every  day  and  suffer  such  pun 
ishment  that  he  was  tired  when  night  came.  Yet 
he  wished  so  much  that  his  fellow  slaves  might 
learn  to  read  that  he  interested  a  small  class  of 
them,  which  he  taught  three  nights  in  every  week. 

He  also  organized  a  Sunday-school  class  of 
about  thirty  young  men.  This  he  taught  under 
an  old  oak  tree  in  the  woods  until  three  class 


26  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

leaders  in  old  master's  church  rushed  in  upon 
them  one  Sabbath  and  forbade  their  meeting. 
Later  on,  however,  the  class  was  again  secretly 
begun  with  more  than  forty  pupils,  many  of  whom 
learned  to  read. 

Frederick  had  been  reading  the  "Columbian 
Orator"  which  described  the  cruelties  and  injus 
tices  of  slavery.  He  had  also  been  thinking  of 
how  to  obtain  his  freedom ;  but  the  pleasant  times 
with  his  Sunday-school  class  had  delayed  his  tak 
ing  any  action  in  the  matter.  He  had  not  given  up 
the  idea,  however,  for  at  the  beginning  of  the 
year  1836  he  made  a  vow  that  the  year  should  not 
end  without  his  trying  to  gain  his  freedom.  He 
kept  the  vow  in  mind  and  finally  told  his  secret  to 
several  of  his  companions,  who  agreed  to  share  in 
a  plan  to  escape. 

They  met  often  by  night  and  every  Sunday  un 
til  the  day  set  for  their  escape  was  at  hand.  They 
were  hoping  that  no  one  would  betray  them,  but 
just  at  the  last  minute  the  news  leaked  out.  The 
boys  were  seized,  dragged  to  town  and  thrown  in 
prison,  where  they  remained  for  some  time. 

II 

For  three  years  after  Frederick's  release  from 
prison  he  worked  in  the  fields  suffering  untold 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  27 

hardships.  The  following  three  years  he  worked 
in  a  shipyard  in  Baltimore  learning  the  ealker's 
trade.  During  these  last  three  years  his  mind 
was  constantly  running  back  to  1817,  the  year  of 
his  birth.  Realizing  how  the  years  were  passing, 
he  was  always  thinking  of  some  plan  of  escape. 
At  last  he  hit  upon  what  seemed  to  be  a  real  one. 
With  arrangements  all  made  for  his  escape,  he 
arose  early  one  September  morning  in  1838,  put 
on  a  sailor's  suit  which  a  friend  had  lent  him  and 
started  down  to  the  depot  just  in  time  to  take  the 
train.  He  also  carried  what  was  called  a  sailor's 
protection,  which  had  on  it  the  American  eagle. 
A  hackman,  whom  he  knew  well,  arrived  at  the 
depot  with  his  baggage  just  as  the  train  was  about 
to  pull  out.  Frederick  grabbed  his  baggage, 
hopped  on  the  train  just  like  a  sailor  and  took 
a  seat.  The  train  moved  on  slowly  until  it  reached 
a  certain  river  which  had  to  be  crossed  by  a  ferry 
boat.  On  this  boat  there  was  a  workman  who 
insisted  on  knowing  Frederick.  He  asked  Fred 
erick  where  he  was  going  and  when  he  was  coming 
back.  He  persisted  in  asking  questions  until 
Frederick  stole  away  to  another  part  of  the  boat. 
After  a  short  while  he  reached  Wilmington,  Dela 
ware,  where  he  took  a  steamboat  to  Philadelphia, 
and  the  train  from  there  to  New  York  City. 


28  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

The  wonderful  sights  of  this  great  city  seemed 
to  make  him  forget  almost  everything  except  the 
fact  that  he  was  now  a  fugitive  slave.  A  few  hours 
after  reaching  New  York,  to  his  surprise  he  met 
on  the  street  a  man  whom  he  had  known  in  Balti 
more.  This  man,  also  a  fugitive,  began  at  once 
to  tell  Frederick  that  there  were  men  in  New  York 
City  hired  to  betray  fugitives  and  that  he  must 
therefore  trust  no  man  with  his  secret. 

This  news  so  disturbed  Frederick,  that  instead 
of  seeking  a  home,  he  spent  the  night  among  bar 
rels  on  one  of  the  New  York  wharves.  Unable  to 
remain  longer  without  food  or  shelter,  the  next 
day  he  sought  out  on  the  streets  a  sailor  who  be 
friended  him  and  then  took  him  to  the  home  of  a 
Mr.  Ruggles — an  "underground  railroad  station" 
— where  he  was  hidden  for  several  days.  During 
these  days  his  sweetheart  came  on  from  Baltimore 
and  they  were  married.  On  the  day  of  their  mar 
riage  they  set  out  for  New  Bedford,  Massachu 
setts,  where  Frederick  as  a  ship's  calker  might 
possibly  find  work.  Their  money  gave  out  on  the 
way  but  a  "Friend",  seeing  the  situation,  paid 
their  fares  for  the  remainder  of  the  journey. 

After  reaching  New  Bedford,  a  room  was  soon 
secured  in  the  home  of  a  very  good  man  who  liked 
Frederick's  face.  They  talked  of  many  things, 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  29 

among  which  was  the  wisdom  of  Frederick's 
changing  his  name.  The  man  said,  "I  have  just 
been  reading  Scott's  Lady  of  the  Lake  and  I 
suggest  that  you  take  the  name  Douglass,  for  that 
grand  man,  Douglass  of  Scotland". 

"Douglass  of  Scotland?  Who  was  he?"  asked 
Frederick.  The  good  man  began  by  telling  the 
story  of  the  bravery  in  battle  of  Douglass  of  Scot 
land.  Before  he  had  finished  his  story,  Frederick 
was  eager  to  take  the  name  of  Douglass. 

He  had  now  a  fine-sounding  name — Frederick 
Douglass — but  he  had  neither  money  nor  a  job. 
He  started  out  seeking  work  at  his  trade  but  was 
told  again  and  again  that  the  calkers  there  would 
not  work  with  him.  Finally,  he  was  forced  to  take 
whatever  his  hands  could  find  to  do.  He  sawed 
wood;  he  shoveled  coal.  He  dug  cellars;  he  re 
moved  rubbish  from  back  yards.  He  loaded  and 
unloaded  ships  and  scrubbed  their  cabins  until  he 
secured  steady  work. 

While  he  was  at  his  work  one  day  a  young  man 
brought  him  a  newspaper  edited  by  a  man  whose 
name  was  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  of  whom 
Douglass  had  never  heard  before.  This  paper, 
for  which  he  immediately  subscribed,  was  known 
as  "The  Liberator".  He  read  every  word  in  the 
issue  which  the  agent  gave  him  and  waited  impa- 


30  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

tiently  for  the  next  one  to  come.  When  it  came, 
there  was  in  it  an  article  about  a  grand  convention 
to  be  held  in  Nantucket.  Douglass  read  the  article 
to  the  home  people.  He  said  that  he  needed 
a  vacation,  which  might  well  be  taken  at  the 
time  of  this  convention.  The  following  issue 
of  the  paper  told  still  more  of  the  plans  for  the 
convention.  He  concluded  that  he  must  attend  it. 

He  went  to  the  convention  without  any  thought 
of  being  known  to  any  one  or  of  taking  any  part 
whatever  in  the  meetings.  A  prominent  abolition 
ist,  however,  who  had  heard  Frederick  speak  to 
his  people  in  a  little  schoolhouse  in  New  Bedford, 
sought  him  out  and  asked  him  to  say  a  few  words 
to  the  convention.  When  he  rose  to  speak,  he  was 
trembling  in  every  limb.  He  could  hardly  stand 
erect. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  scarcely  say  two 
words  without  hesitating  or  stammering,  but  he 
went  on.  As  he  told  of  his  experiences  as  a  slave, 
the  audience  was  exceedingly  quiet.  When  he  had 
finished,  the  people  broke  into  applause  and  ex 
citement.  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  now  known 
as  a  leading  abolitionist,  was  the  next  speaker. 
He  spoke  with  feeling,  taking  Frederick  Doug 
lass  as  his  subject.  The  audience  sat  motionless 
and  some  people  present  even  wept. 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  31 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  another  abolitionist 
came  to  Douglass  and  urged  him  to  become  a 
traveling  agent  for  the  Massachusetts  Anti- Sla 
very  Society.  For  two  reasons,  he  did  not  wish 
to  take  such  a  position.  In  the  first  place,  having 
been  out  of  slavery  just  three  years,  he  was  afraid 
he  could  not  speak  well  enough  to  travel  in  that 
way;  and,  secondly,  he  feared  that  his  former  mas 
ter  might  hear  of  him  and  send  for  him.  The 
abolitionist,  however,  unwilling  to  accept  excuses, 
urged  Douglass  until  finally  he  consented  to 
travel  for  three  months.  Before  many  days  had 
passed  he  was  on  the  road  as  a  lecturer  against 
slavery. 

One  morning  he  went  to  Grafton,  Massachu 
setts,  and  tried  to  get  a  place  to  hold  a  meeting. 
But  he  could  not  get  a  hall  or  even  a  church. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  so  determined  to  speak  to 
the  people  that  he  went  to  a  hotel  and  borrowed 
a  dinner  bell.  Soon  he  was  seen  running  through 
the  streets  like  a  madman,  ringing  the  bell  and 
crying  out,  "Frederick  Douglass,  recently  a  slave, 
will  speak  on  Grafton  Commons  at  seven  o'clock 
tonight". 

Many  came  out  to  hear  what  such  a  strange 
man  could  say  and  all  left  at  the  close  of  that 
open-air  meeting  apparently  more  thoughtful 


32  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

than  when  they  came.  The  next  day  ministers 
of  the  large  churches  in  that  town  came  to  him  and 
offered  to  open  their  doors  for  his  meetings. 

For  several  years  he  did  nothing  but  travel  and 
hold  meetings.  He  attended  one  hundred  anti- 
slavery  conventions  and  spoke  at  every  one  of 
them.  During  the  first  three  or  four  months  of 
his  travel  he  told  the  story  of  his  experiences  as  a 
slave.  Then  he  became  tired  of  repeating  the  same 
old  story  and  began  to  show  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  expressed  himself  that  he  was  thinking 
deeply  about  the  whole  question  of  slavery. 

"Let  us  have  the  facts.  Be  yourself  and  tell  your 
story",  said  his  hearers  again  and  again,  but 
Douglass  said  that  he  was  tired  of  telling  his  per 
sonal  story.  He  attempted  to  speak  against  the 
injustices  heaped  upon  him  and  others,  but  his 
audiences  murmured,  saying,  "He  does  not  talk 
like  a  slave.  He  does  not  look  or  act  like  one ;  and, 
besides  he  does  not  tell  us  where  he  came  from 
or  how  he  got  away;  and  he  is  educated,  too". 

Determined  to  remove  doubt  from  their  minds, 
Douglass  wrote  a  narrative  of  his  life  as  a  slave 
and  had  it  published.  Now  that  the  story  of  his 
life  was  published,  friends  like  Wendell  Phillips, 
fearing  he  might  be  captured  and  taken  back  into 
slavery,  advised  that  he  go  to  Europe.  He  went 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  33 

and  he  spoke  in  all  the  large  cities  of  England, 
Scotland  and  Ireland.  In  order  that  he  might  re 
turn  home  a  free  man,  two  women  in  England, 
"Friends"  they  were,  started  the  plan  of  raising 
the  money  with  which  his  freedom  was  purchased 
from  his  old  master  in  Baltimore. 

On  his  return  to  America,  he  went  to  Rochester, 
New  York,  and  for  sixteen  years  edited  there  a 
paper  called  The  North  Star.  So  much  money 
was  needed  for  publishing  this  paper  that  he  even 
mortgaged  his  home.  For  twenty-five  years  he 
lived  in  Rochester.  During  those  years  he  wrote 
and  lectured  and  conducted  an  "underground 
railroad  station"  in  that  city. 

Because  of  the  disturbed  conditions  in  his  own 
country  at  this  time,  he  went  to  Europe  again  but 
returned  in  six  months  on  account  of  death  in  his 
family.  Some  of  the  disturbances  which  he  left 
behind  when  he  went  away  had  subsided  but 
others  had  risen.  A  President  of  the  United  States 
had  to  be  elected.  For  a  long  time  it  seemed  that 
no  man  was  the  choice  of  a  majority  of  the  people. 
Finally,  Abraham  Lincoln,  who  had  once  been  a 
rail- splitter,  was  elected.  Douglass  worked  hard 
to  help  elect  Lincoln.  He  also  took  part  in  the 
terrible  Civil  War,  which  had  come  as  a  result 
of  the  country's  disturbances. 


34  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

As  soon  as  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts  is 
sued  the  order  for  the  many  soldiers  needed, 
Douglass  enlisted  his  own  sons,  Charles  and 
Lewis,  from  New  York  State,  and  took  a  leading 
part  in  raising  the  Fifty-fourth  and  Fifty-fifth 
Massachusetts  Negro  Regiments.  The  first  of 
these  soon  won  fame  and  a  name  throughout  the 
country  because  of  its  brave  attack  on  Fort  Wag 
ner  in  the  hour  of  trial.  In  that  terrible  battle  at 
nightfall,  the  Fifty-fourth  was  fearfully  cut  to 
pieces,  losing  nearly  half  of  its  officers,  among 
whom  was  its  beloved  commander,  Colonel  Shaw. 
Douglass,  with  his  son  Charles  as  a  recruiting 
officer,  worked  steadily  until  the  emancipation  of 
the  slaves  and  the  close  of  the  war  were  brought 
about. 

He  greatly  rejoiced  over  the  outcome  of  the 
war,  yet  a  feeling  of  sadness  seemed  to  come  over 
him.  What  was  he  to  do?  He  felt  that  he  had 
reached  the  end  of  the  noblest  and  best  part  of  his 
life.  He  thought  of  settling  on  a  farm  which  he 
might  buy  with  the  few  thousand  dollars  which 
he  had  saved  from  the  sale  of  his  book,  called 
"My  Bondage  and  Freedom",  and  from  the  pro 
ceeds  of  his  lectures  at  home  and  abroad.  The 
question,  however,  was  soon  decided  for  him.  To 
his  surprise,  invitations  began  to  pour  in  upon 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  35 

him  from  colleges,  clubs  and  literary  societies 
offering  him  one  hundred  and  even  two  hundred 
dollars  for  a  single  lecture. 

One  of  the  literary  societies  of  Western  Re 
serve  College  invited  him  to  address  its  members 
on  one  Commencement  Day.  He  had  never  been 
inside  of  a  schoolhouse  for  the  purpose  of  study 
ing,  therefore  the  thought  of  speaking  before  col 
lege  professors  and  students  gave  him  anxiety. 
He  spent  days  in  study  for  the  occasion.  Not  be 
ing  able  to  find  in  our  libraries  a  certain  book 
which  he  needed,  he  sent  to  England  for  it.  Not 
long  after  his  address  on  that  Commencement 
Day,  the  thought  came  to  Douglass  that  the  Ne 
gro  was  still  in  need  of  the  opportunity  to  vote, 
and  thereby  become  a  citizen.  He  talked  about 
the  question  and  finally  set  himself  to  the  task  of 
gaining  this  right  for  his  people. 

His  first  marked  step  in  the  matter  was  to  gain 
for  himself  and  ten  other  men  an  interview  with 
the  President  of  the  United  States.  The  discus 
sion  on  that  occasion  brought  the  question  prac 
tically  before  the  whole  American  public.  The 
next  great  step  in  gaining  the  ballot  for  the  f reed- 
men  was  taken  in  Philadelphia  in  1866,  at  a  great 
convention  called  the  "National  Loyalists'  Con- 


36  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

vention",  which  was  attended  by  the  ablest  men 
from  all  sections  of  the  country. 

Douglass's  own  city,  Rochester,  New  York, 
elected  him  to  represent  her.  While  he  was 
marching  in  the  long  procession  through  the 
streets  of  Philadelphia,  he  saw  standing  on  the 
corner  of  Ninth  and  Chestnut  Streets,  the  daugh 
ter  of  Miss  Lucretia  Auld,  under  whose  window 
he  had  sung  as  a  hungry  slave  boy.  He  went  to 
her  and  expressed  his  surprise  and  joy  at  seeing 
her. 

"But  what  brought  you  to  Philadelphia  at  this 
time?"  Douglass  asked. 

She  replied,  "I  heard  you  were  to  be  here  and 
I  came  to  see  you  walk  in  the  procession".  She 
followed  the  procession  for  several  blocks  and 
joined  in  the  applause  given  Frederick  Douglass 
as  he  passed. 

In  that  convention,  resolutions  were  finally 
passed  in  favor  of  giving  the  freedmen  the  right 
to  vote.  Douglass  was  called  forward  to  speak. 
The  vote  passed  by  that  convention,  it  is  said, 
had  its  influence  in  bringing  about  the  passage  of 
the  Fifteenth  Amendment  to  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States. 

After  the  convention,  Douglass  went  to  Wash 
ington,  D.  C.,  as  editor  of  a  newspaper.  It  was 


FREDERICK  DOUGLASS  [  37 

not  long  before  he  became  what  is  called  Elector- 
at-Large  for  the  State  of  New  York.  As  such  a 
representative,  the  Republican  party  of  that  state 
sent  him  to  Washington  to  carry  its  sealed  vote 
which  went  toward  electing  Grant  as  President. 
Douglass  later  received  an  invitation  to  speak  at 
the  monument  of  the  unknown  loyal  dead,  at 
Arlington,  on  Decoration  Day. 

Five  years  later,  when  he  spoke  at  the  unveiling 
of  the  Lincoln  Monument  in  Lincoln  Park, 
Washington,  D.  C.,  the  President  of  the  United 
States  and  his  Cabinet,  judges  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  members  of  the  Senate  and  the  House  of 
Representatives,  and  many  thousands  of  other 
citizens  were  there  to  listen  to  him,  to  honor  the 
memory  of  Lincoln  and  to  show  their  apprecia 
tion  of  such  a  gift  from  the  f reedmen. 

Douglass  was  appointed  United  States  Marshal 
of  the  District  of  Columbia.  As  Marshal  he 
visited  the  criminal  courts  every  day  to  see  that 
the  criminals  received  justice.  There  were  also 
high  social  duties  attached  to  this  office.  President 
Garfield  later  appointed  him  Recorder  of  Deeds 
of  the  District  of  Columbia,  at  which  post  he  re 
mained- for  nearly  five  years.  In  this  position,  he 
was  responsible  for  having  recorded  in  the  public 
records  every  transfer  of  property,  every  deed  of 


38  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

trust  and  every  mortgage  made  in  the  capital  of 
the  nation. 

In  1886,  two  years  after  he  was  Recorder  of 
Deeds,  he  and  his  wife — the  second  Mrs.  Doug 
lass — made  a  tour  through  England,  Scotland 
and  Ireland,  where  they  met  many  great  people 
besides  the  children  of  many  of  Douglass's  old 
friends.  His  next  and  last  appointment  as  a  high 
public  official  was  to  the  office  of  Minister  to  Hayti. 
President  Harrison  appointed  him  to  this  office. 
The  President  of  Hayti  also  appointed  him  to  act 
as  commissioner  for  that  country  at  the  Chicago 
World's  Fair  in  1893. 

Many  boys  and  girls  who  have  read  his  books 
admit  that  they  have  been  inspired  by  the  life  he 
lived  in  traveling  from  the  log  cabin  on  the  East 
ern  Shore  of  Maryland  to  the  high  and  important 
offices  which  he  held  in  Washington.  The  best 
one  of  these  books  is  called  "My  Life  and  Times, 
by  Frederick  Douglass".  After  his  death  on 
February  20, 1895,  at  his  home  in  Anacostia,  Dis 
trict  of  Columbia,  the  citizens  of  Rochester,  New 
York,  erected  a  public  monument  to  his  memory. 

His  epitaph  has  been  written  in  his  own  words : 
"Do  not  judge  me  by  the  heights  to  which  I  may 
have  risen  but  by  the  depths  from  which  I  have 
come". 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Chapter  II 

PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

THE  POET 
1872-1906 

AN  elevator  boy — Paul  Laurence  Dunbar — a 
_1\_  black  high-school  graduate — stood  for  a  few 
moments  at  the  entrance  to  his  elevator.  He 
seemed  to  fix  his  eyes  on  every  one  entering  the 
Callahan  Building. 

The  Callahan  Building  was  a  large  structure 
located  in  a  busy  section  of  Dayton,  Ohio.  Its 
quick  elevator  service  in  spite  of  its  limited  num 
ber  of  elevators  was  often  a  subject  of  comment. 
The  grating  of  the  elevator  cables  and  the  thud 
of  the  car  as  it  stopped  for  passengers  were  con 
stant  reminders  of  the  rapid  service.  Up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  went  the  elevator,  and  ring, 
ring,  went  the  bells  from  morning  until  night.  As 
the  elevator  moved  upward  and  downward  with 
grating  cables,  Paul  kept  his  ear  turned  as  though 
he  were  listening  to  a  song. 

Apparently  unnoticed,  day  after  day  he  ran 
his  elevator,  stopping  repeatedly  first  at  one  floor 
and  then  another  until  one  day  a  woman  entered 
his  car  and  spoke  to  him.  It  was  one  of  his  former 
high-school  teachers.  After  greeting  him,  she 

[41] 


42  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

eagerly  told  him  that  the  Western  Association  of 
Writers  would  soon  meet  in  Dayton.  Before  the 
short  conversation  was  finished,  she  asked  him  to 
write  a  poem  of  welcome  to  that  association  and 
promised  that  she  would  arrange  for  him  to  re 
cite  it. 

Paul's  busy  days  seemed  to  come  and  go  very 
rapidly.  Yet  when  the  Western  Association  of 
Writers  met  a  few  weeks  later  he  had  composed 
his  poem  of  welcome  for  the  occasion.  The  printed 
programs  of  the  association  did  not  contain  his 
name.  The  first  day  of  the  meeting,  however, 
after  being  excused  from  his  elevator  duties,  clad 
as  he  was,  he  hurried  to  the  hall  in  which  the  ses 
sions  were  to  be  held.  His  teacher  stood  in  the 
doorway  waiting  for  him.  He  entered  silently  and 
made  his  way  to  the  rostrum  and  began  reciting 
his  poem  of  welcome.  Men  and  women  in  the  audi 
ence  at  first  straightened  up  to  look  at  this  swarthy 
lad.  Then,  as  if  suddenly  struck  by  something  in 
the  poem,  many  a  one  turned  his  ear  and  leaned 
forward  to  listen.  When  Paul  had  finished,  the 
entire  audience  broke  into  applause.  Some  even 
rushed  forward  to  shake  his  hand. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting  some  of  the  writers 
looked  for  the  boy  poet  but  he  had  hurried  back 
to  his  elevator.  Just  at  the  moment  when  they 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUXBAR  [  43 

were  about  to  give  up  their  search  for  him  they 
ran  across  his  former  high-school  teacher.  She, 
with  enthusiasm  exceeding  theirs,  told  of  Dun- 
bar's  graduating  from  high-school  in  1891  with 
honors.  She  told  of  his  composing  the  class-song 
which  was  sung  at  the  commencement  exercises. 
One  of  the  writers  interrupted  to  ask  who  the  boy 
was  and  what  he  was  doing.  The  teacher,  speak 
ing  hurriedly  as  though  she  had  something  else 
important  to  tell  first,  said  that  Dunbar  was  once 
editor  of  their  high-school  paper.  She  also  told  of 
his  writing  his  first  poem  before  he  was  seven 
years  old.  Then  proceeding  to  answer  the  writer's 
questions  she  said  that  Dunbar's  mother  was  a 
washerwoman  and  that  he  was  the  elevator  boy  at 
the  Callahan  Building;  and  looking  each  of  these 
writers  in  the  face,  she  added : 

"Dunbar  always  brings  and  carries  the  clothes 
for  his  mother". 

Three  of  the  men,  after  inquiring  where  the 
Callahan  Building  was,  started  in  search  of  it. 
They  found  it  and  soon  entered  the  elevator. 
Among  the  first  things  they  saw  were  a  Century 
Magazine,  a  lexicon,  a  scratch  tablet  and  a  pencil 
lying  on  a  stool.  Dunbar  was  in  the  act  of  starting 
his  car  when  one  of  the  men  said:  "No!  No! 
Do  not  go  up  for  us !  We  came  simply  to  see  you 


44  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

and  to  tell  you  how  much  we  appreciated  the  poem 
you  read  this  morning". 

Dunbar  looked  at  them  with  great  embarrass 
ment.  As  he  began  to  thank  them  a  ring  of  the 
elevator  signal  came  from  the  top  floor.  With  a 
modest  bow  and  a  request  to  be  excused,  he  took 
hold  of  the  power  lever  and  up  the  elevator  went 
and  soon  down  it  came  again. 

In  the  midst  of  the  conversation,  constantly 
interrupted  by  passengers  entering  the  elevator, 
one  of  the  visitors  asked,  "What  wages  are  you 
getting  here?" 

"Four  dollars  a  week,  Sir",  answered  Dunbar. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  your  money?" 
asked  another. 

Dunbar,  somewhat  hesitatingly  said,  "Well,  I 
help  my  mother  and  then  I  am  trying  to  buy  a 
little  home  for  her,  too". 

"How  on  earth  — ?" 

Ring,  ring,  went  bells  on  different  floors.  Up 
went  the  elevator  and  then  down  it  came. 

Hurrying  to  finish  his  sentence,  the  visitor  con 
tinued,  "How  on  earth  did  you  start  to  buy  a  home 
on  four  dollars  a  week?  Where  is  your  father?" 

Dunbar,  disturbed  by  so  many  questions  and 
so  many  bells,  said  hurriedly,  "I  bought  the 
home  through  the  Building  and  Loan  Associa- 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR  [  45 

tion.  My  father  was  a  plasterer  but  he  died 
when  I  was  twelve  years  old".  As  another 
bell  began  to  ring,  the  men  said  goodbye  and 
went  away  talking  about  the  boy  and  pledging 
each  other  to  propose  his  name  for  membership 
in  the  Western  Association  of  Writers. 

Dunbar  seemed  greatly  encouraged  by  the 
Western  Association  members.  He  had  also  re 
ceived  promises  of  help  from  others.  One  evening, 
after  a  hard  day  on  the  elevator,  he  hurried  home, 
saying  to  his  mother  as  he  entered,  "Ma,  where 
are  those  papers  I  asked  you  to  save  for  me  some 
months  ago?" 

"What,  those  botany  sheets?"  she  replied. 
Dunbar  failed  to  answer  immediately.  She  con 
tinued,  "They  are  in  that  box  under  the  kitchen 
safe".  The  neighbors  had  begun  to  ask  Mrs. 
Dunbar  why  she  was  keeping  all  of  those 
papers  piled  on  the  table  for  so  long.  Seeing  that 
so  many  were  noticing  the  unsightly  stacks  of 
papers,  she  had  removed  them  one  day  from  the 
crowded  little  room  to  the  kitchen. 

With  a  lighted  lamp  in  his  hand,  Dunbar  went 
to  the  kitchen  and  pulled  out  the  box.  There  lay 
his  papers,  some  of  which  he  had  not  seen  for  five 
or  six  years.  He  pulled  a  chair  up  to  the  box  and 
began  sorting  them.  When  he  had  finished  and 


46  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

given  the  box  a  shove  which  sent  it  back  under  the 
safe,  he  made  known  his  readiness  for  his  supper. 

The  next  morning  as  he  was  leaving  for  his 
work  he  said,  "Goodbye,  Ma,  I'm  going  to  see 
about  publishing  a  book  today".  He  walked  rap 
idly  to  the  Callahan  Building  and  immediately 
took  charge  of  his  elevator.  As  soon  as  his  lunch 
hour  came  he  hurried  to  a  publishing  house  and 
asked  to  see  the  manager.  He  was  out  to  lunch 
but  one  of  his  assistants  was  called  in.  After  look 
ing  the  manuscript  through  hastily  he  offered  to 
publish  it  for  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars. 
Dunbar  looked  at  him  and  shook  his  head.  Un 
able  to  conceal  his  disappointment,  he  took  up  his 
manuscript,  bade  him  good-day  and  started  out. 

The  business  manager  of  the  firm  happened  to 
come  in  at  this  moment  and  saw  Dunbar  starting 
out.  He  noticed  the  gloom  and  the  disappoint 
ment  written  on  the  boy's  face,  called  him  over  to 
his  desk  and  asked  what  was  the  trouble.  Dunbar 
at  first,  choking  with  something  which  seemed  to 
cut  off  his  words,  simply  handed  him  the  manu 
script,  repeating  as  best  he  could  what  the  assist 
ant  had  said  about  publishing  it  for  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  dollars.  The  business  manager 
took  the  manuscript  and  read  here  and  there  a 
poem.  He  questioned  the  lad  at  length  about  his 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR  [  47 

work  and  his  home.  Knowing  something  about 
Dunbar's  high-school  record,  he  said,  "You  go 
back  to  your  work;  the  poems  will  be  published". 

He  went  on  with  his  work,  scarcely  waiting  for 
the  boy  to  thank  him.  Dunbar  bowed,  stepped 
away  lightly  and  with  a  broad  smile  on  his  face 
hurried  back  to  his  elevator. 

The  hours  seemed  to  drag  and  yet  he  worked 
away  until  closing  time  came.  On  leaving  his 
elevator  he  went  by  leaps  and  bounds  until  he 
reached  his  mother's  door.  With  his  key  in  hand, 
he  unlocked  it  and  rushed  in  almost  breathless, 
saying,  "Oh,  Ma,  they  are  going  to  print  my 
book!"  As  he  told  the  story  about  the  business 
manager  he  laughed  and  cried.  Mrs.  Dunbar 
laughed  and  cried  too  until  far  into  the  night. 

As  the  days  came  and  went,  Mrs.  Dunbar  be 
gan  to  listen  with  unusual  interest  for  the  ringing 
of  the  door-bell.  Finally,  one  morning  as  the  snow 
fell  thick  and  fast,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Mrs.  Dunbar  grabbed  up  her  apron,  wiped  the 
soapsuds  from  her  hands  and  hurried  to  open  it. 
There  stood  a  delivery  man  with  a  large  package. 

"For  Mr.  Paul  Dunbar",  said  he.  "By  the  way, 
who  is  this  Dunbar?  Is  he  a  doctor,  a  lawyer,  a 
preacher,  or  what?" 

Mrs.  Dunbar  responded,  saying,  "Who?  Paul? 


48  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Why,  Paul  is  just  an  elevator  boy  and  a — a  poet". 
The  man  looked  at  her  with  squinting  eyes, 
glanced  about  at  the  front  of  the  poor  little  cot 
tage,  then  bade  her  good-day  and  went  his  way. 

She  made  a  small  opening  at  one  end  of  the 
package  and  peeped  at  the  books.  Before  realiz 
ing  what  she  was  doing,  she  threw  her  arms  around 
the  package  and  knelt  down  with  her  head  resting 
on  it,  offering  a  silent  prayer.  When  finally  she 
returned  to  her  washtub,  she  rubbed  a  garment 
a  while,  then  wiped  away  the  tears  which  were 
dropping  into  the  soapsuds.  The  wash  seemed 
to  hold  her  unusually  long  and  yet,  when  she  had 
finished  it,  the  sun  was  still  high  in  the  heavens. 
She  prepared  her  dinner,  did  her  chores,  then  sat 
down  to  watch  and  wait.  Finally  there  came  a 
familiar  step.  She  listened  for  a  moment,  then 
rose  and  opened  the  door  while  Dunbar  was  feel 
ing  for  his  keys. 

"See  the  books,  Paul!"  she  said,  pointing  to 
the  package.  They  opened  up  the  package  and 
stood  half  bent  over  it  while  Paul  was  reading 
from  the  little  book  of  poems  which  he  had  named 
"Oak  and  Ivy".  They  took  it  to  the  dinner  table, 
looked  at  it,  read  more  from  it  and  rejoiced 
together. 

The  next  morning,  as  Dunbar  went  back  to  his 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR  [  49 

elevator,  he  took  along  some  copies  of  "Oak  and 
Ivy".  These  he  ventured  to  show  to  the  passen 
gers  who  he  thought  might  buy  a  copy.  His 
supply  was  soon  sold  out.  Greatly  surprised  at 
his  first  day's  success,  he  took  more  copies  the 
next  day,  and  still  more  the  following  days  for 
over  a  week.  In  less  than  two  weeks'  time,  he 
walked  into  the  office  of  the  business  manager  of 
the  publishing  house,  reached  into  his  pocket  and 
pulled  out  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars. 
This  he  placed  in  the  business  manager's  hands, 
adding  his  hearty,  humble  thanks.  He  told  of  his 
success  in  selling  the  books  on  the  elevator  and 
left  the  publishing-house  to  see  a  man  who  was 
offering  him  a  minor  position  in  the  court-house. 
After  serving  notice  on  the  employment  manager 
of  the  Callahan  Building  and  assisting  him  in 
securing  another  elevator  boy,  Dunbar  left  to 
take  up  his  new  duties. 

Within  the  next  few  days  he  smiled  and  re 
joiced  as  he  read  a  review  of  his  poems  in  a  news 
paper  called  The  Toledo  Blade.  A  few  days  later 
he  began  to  receive  letters  from  people  who  had 
read  this  review.  Still  later,  some  of  these  people 
arranged  for  him  to  give  readings  of  his  poems. 

Among  those  who  wrote  him  about  the  review 
was  a  Dayton  woman  who  sent  a  copy  of  "Oak 


50  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

and  Ivy"  to  a  Dr.  Tobey  of  Toledo.  Dr.  Tobey 
read  a  few  of  the  poems  and  laid  the  book  aside. 
A  few  weeks  later  when  he  went  to  Dayton  on 
some  business,  he  discovered  to  his  surprise  that 
even  the  business  men  were  talking  about  Dunbar 
and  his  poems.  On  his  return  home,  he  took  up 
the  book  and  sat  down  to  read  the  poems  again. 
He  sat  there  reading  and  re-reading,  occasionally 
stopping  between  poems  as  if  he  were  thinking 
deeply.  When  he  had  finished  the  book  he  drew 
his  check  book  from  his  pocket,  made  out  a  check 
to  Dunbar  and  enclosed  it  in  a  letter  asking  for  a 
number  of  copies  of  "Oak  and  Ivy". 

When  Dunbar's  letter  in  reply,  expressing  his 
deep  appreciation  for  the  check,  was  received,  Dr. 
Tobey  seemed  to  be  deeply  moved.  He  wrote 
Dunbar  immediately  inviting  him  to  Toledo  to 
give  a  reading  of  his  poems.  The  young  poet  read 
the  letter  to  his  mother  and  soon  began  to  prepare 
for  the  trip.  Night  after  night,  until  time  to 
go,  he  practiced  reading  some  of  his  poems 
which  had  not  been  published.  Even  while  the 
train  sped  along  to  Toledo,  he  sat  saying  over  and 
over  to  himself  the  words  of  some  of  the  poems. 

After  the  reading  that  night,  Dr.  Tobey  and  a 
Mr.  Thatcher,  who  had  also  helped  Dunbar,  shook 
his  hand  warmly  and  asked  about  the  new  poems. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR  [51 

Upon  learning  that  the  young  poet  had  a  second 
boojc  ready  they  at  once  agreed  to  furnish  the 
money  to  publish  it.  Consequently,  a  second  book 
of  poems  called  "Majors  and  Minors"  was  soon 
published. 

The  day  that  Dr.  Tobey  received  a  copy  of 
"Majors  and  Minors"  he  was  called  into  a  consul 
tation  which  kept  him  at  a  hotel  that  night.  He 
and  a  friend  sat  up  reading  this  little  book  of 
poems  until  midnight.  Just  as  they  had  finished 
and  stepped  up  to  the  desk  to  get  their  keys,  an 
other  man  walked  up  too.  He  was  a  great  actor 
playing  Monte  Cristo  at  that  time  in  Toledo.  Dr. 
Tobey  upon  being  introduced  to  him  said,  "I  know 
you  actor  folks  are  always  being  bored  by  people 
wanting  you  to  read  and  give  opinions  of  poems, 
but  I  have  something  here  that  I  wish  you  would 
read  if  you  will". 

The  actor  took  the  crude  little  copy  of  "Majors 
and  Minors"  and  turned  its  pages.  Dr.  Tobey 
asked  him  to  read  a  poem  entitled  "When  Sleep 
Comes  Down  to  Soothe  the  Weary  Eyes".  He 
read  it  at  first  quietly  as  he  leaned  over  the 
counter.  Then  he  read  it  aloud.  With  great  ex 
pression  and  gesture  he  read  it  a  third  time.  He 
turned  to  another  poem  and  read  that;  then  to 
another  and  another  until  the  clock  struck  one — 


52  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

two — three.  He  took  out  his  watch  and  looked 
at  it. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  "Three  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing!  Dr.  Tobey,  I  thank  you  for  giving  me 
this  opportunity.  In  my  opinion  no  poet  has 
written  such  verses  since  the  days  of  Poe". 

Dunbar  soon  gave  up  his  work  and  went  to 
Toledo  to  sell  his  book.  One  night  after  a  very 
discouraging  day,  he  walked  into  Dr.  Tobey's 
office  to  tell  him  his  troubles.  Dr.  Tobey  said, 
"Well,  my  boy,  how  goes  the  battle?" 

"Oh,  doctor",  said  Dunbar,  with  tears  stream 
ing  down  his  cheeks,  "I  never  can  offer  to  sell 
another  book  to  any  man". 

"Paul,"  replied  Dr.  Tobey,  "why  don't  you 
make  up  a  speech?" 

"Oh",  answered  Paul,  "I  have  tried  to  do  that 
but  my  tongue  cleaves  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth 
and  I  cannot  say  a  word". 

The  doctor  said  sympathetically,  "You're  no 
good  as  a  book-agent.  While  I  was  down  town 
this  morning  I  sold  three  of  your  books  to  three 
of  the  most  prominent  men  in  Toledo". 

Dr.  Tobey  then  advised  him  to  send  a  copy  of 
"Majors  and  Minors"  to  the  actor  and  author  of 
another  play  which  was  then  being  presented  in 
Toledo.  Dunbar  made  several  attempts  to  pre- 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR  [  53 

sent  the  book  in  person  but  failed  in  each  attempt. 
Nevertheless,  before  leaving  Toledo,  he  saw  to  it 
that  the  book  reached  the  actor.  After  reading  it, 
the  actor  wrote  Dunbar  a  most  encouraging  letter. 
He  also  sent  a  copy  of  the  poems  to  the  novelist, 
William  Dean  Howells.  This  well-known  writer 
in  turn  sent  a  full-page  review  of  the  poems  to 
Harper's  Monthly.  He  described  the  little  book 
as  a  countrified  little  volume  in  appearance  which 
inwardly  was  full  of  a  new  world.  Singular  it  was 
that  the  article  appeared  in  Harper's  Monthly  on 
the  27th  of  June,  1896,  which  was  Dunbar's 
twenty-fourth  birthday.  After  being  told  of  the 
article  by  a  friend,  Dunbar  went  to  a  newsstand 
and  purchased  a  copy  of  Harper's  Monthly.  As 
he  read  the  article,  he  said  he  knew  not  whether  to 
laugh  or  cry,  but  no  doubt  he  did  a  little  of  each. 
Hundreds  of  letters  from  all  parts  of  the  world, 
even  from  Athens,  Greece,  began  to  pour  into  the 
office  of  the  publishers.  Some  were  ordering  Dun- 
bar's  poems,  others  were  asking  for  his  photo 
graph  and  still  others  were  asking  for  information 
about  him. 

On  the  Fourth  of  July,  Dunbar  and  his  mother 
went,  at  Dr.  Tobey's  invitation,  to  Toledo.  When 
they  arrived  at  the  meeting  place  about  sixty 
prominent  persons  from  Toledo  and  elsewhere 


54  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

sat  waiting  to  greet  them.  Dr.  Tobey,  with  his 
arm  about  Dunbar's  shoulder  as  they  walked  to 
wards  a  little  ante-room  said,  "It  has  all  come  at 
once,  Paul.  Mr.  Howells  has  made  you  famous. 
They  all  want  to  meet  you  now.  Those  who  made 
fun  of  you  because  of  your  color  and  your  poverty 
are  now  eager  to  clasp  your  hand.  This  is  going 
to  be  the  testing  day  of  your  life.  I  hope  you  will 
bear  good  fortune  and  popularity  as  well  and  as 
bravely  as  you  have  met  your  disappointments 
and  your  humiliations.  If  so,  that  will  indeed  be 
a  proof  of  your  greatness". 

Among  the  poems  which  Dunbar  recited  that 
day  was  "Ships  that  Pass  in  the  Night".  The 
audience  seemed  especially  moved  by  this  poem. 
The  most  prominent  man  in  that  select  group 
said,  "Of  all  things  I  ever  heard,  I  never  listened 
to  anything  so  impressive". 

That  night,  after  such  a  triumphant  day,  Dun- 
bar,  sitting  alone,  wrote  these  lines: 

Mere  human  strength  may  stand  ill  fortune's  frown ; 

So  I  prevailed,  for  human  strength  was  mine ; 
But  from  the  killing  strength  of  great  renown 

Naught  may  protect  me  save  a  strength  Divine. 
Help  me,  O  Lord,  in  this  my  trembling  cause. 
I  scorn  men's  curses,  but  I  dread  applause. 

During  these  days  of  public  attention,  the  poet 
visited  some  of  the  eastern  cities,  giving  readings 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR  [55 

of  his  works  to  audiences  composed  of  people 
from  all  sections.  On  almost  every  occasion,  the 
audience  responded  with  loud  applause  and  often 
with  bursts  of  laughter. 

The  following  year,  when  the  opportunity  to  go 
to  England  as  a  reader  of  his  poems  presented  it 
self,  he  took  advantage  of  it.  While  he  was  in 
London,  the  American  Ambassador  arranged  an 
entertainment  for  him  at  which  he  read  before 
many  of  the  foremost  men  and  women  of  Lon 
don.  He  was  further  entertained  by  prominent 
clubs  and  prominent  people.  Although  he  was 
being  royally  treated,  he  often  ran  away  from  the 
public  gatherings  in  London  to  his  lodging  place 
to  work  on  his  first  novel,  "The  Uncalled". 

One  day  just  as  he  was  nearing  the  end  of  this 
novel,  he  received  a  letter  from  a  friend  in  Amer 
ica  asking  if  he  would  accept  a  place  in  the  Library 
of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C.  He  wrote  the 
friend  immediately  thanking  him  for  his  interest 
and  assuring  him  that  he  would  be  glad  to  accept 
the  position  if  offered. 

On  his  return  to  America  a  little  later,  he  went 
at  once  to  Washington,  D.  C.,  where  he  began  his 
work  in  the  Library  of  Congress.  Among  the 
first  things  he  did  was  to  look  up  a  home  for  his 
mother.  As  soon  as  they  were  settled  in  their 


56  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

home,  he  began  to  use  his  evenings  and  all  of  his 
spare  time  in  writing. 

For  about  fifteen  months,  he  sat  at  his  desk 
nearly  every  evening  until  far  into  the  night.  One 
night  he  wrote  a  friend,  saying,  "I  am  working 
very  hard  these  days,  so  if  it  is  only  for  the  idle 
that  the  devil  runs  his  employment  bureau,  I  have 
no  need  of  his  services".  By  such  diligence,  he 
soon  had  published  a  third  book  of  poems  which 
he  called  "Lyrics  of  Lowly  Life". 

Apparently  great  joy  and  a  cessation  of  undue 
toil  took  the  place  of  his  very  busy  days  for  a 
while.  About  this  time,  he  married  a  young 
woman  who  also  had  written  some  verses.  Both 
she  and  he  appeared  to  be  very  happy  until  he 
began  to  be  annoyed  by  a  stubborn,  hacking 
cough.  The  dust  from  the  library  books  seemed 
to  aggravate  it  so  that  he  soon  resigned  his  posi 
tion.  Thinking  that  a  change  of  climate  would 
do  him  good,  he  made  a  tour  of  the  South,  giving 
readings  of  his  poems  as  he  went. 

The  cough  continued  to  trouble  him.  Taking 
the  advice  of  a  physician,  he  began  to  prepare  to 
go  to  the  Catskill  Mountains.  However,  before 
he  left,  another  volume  of  poems  appeared  which 
he  had  named  "Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside". 
The  new  volume  of  poems  seemed  to  give  him 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR  [  57 

strength.  He  completed  his  preparations  and  set 
out  for  the  mountains.  While  there  he  worked 
steadily  writing  poems  and  stories.  Just  as  stead 
ily  did  his  cough  seem  to  grow  worse.  After  a 
while,  he  began  to  feel  that  Denver,  Colorado, 
was  the  place  for  him.  He  consulted  a  physician 
and  was  not  long  in  starting  out  for  Denver,  ac 
companied  by  Mrs.  Dunbar  and  his  mother. 

The  long  trip  seemed  to  tire  him  greatly  and 
yet  he  reached  Denver  in  safety.  After  a  few 
days'  rest,  he  did  his  best  at  strolling  around 
looking  at  the  mountainous  country.  One  day, 
as  he  sat  writing  a  friend,  he  said,  "Well,  it  is 
something  to  sit  down  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  even  if  one  only  goes  there 
to  die". 

After  securing  a  little  house  in  a  town  near 
Denver,  he  bought  an  old  mare,  which  he  hitched 
every  morning  to  his  buggy  and  drove  for  miles. 
One  day  after  a  long,  long  ride  over  the  beautiful 
hills  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  poem  about  "That 
OF  Mare  of  Mine".  Although  he  could  not  walk 
much,  he  worked  for  hours  each  day  until  he  had 
finished  a  novel  which  he  called  "The  Love  of 
Landry". 

After  spending  some  months  in  Denver,  he 
and  Mrs.  Dunbar  returned  to  Washington,  D.  C., 


58  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

where  they  bought  a  home  and  apparently  settled 
down.  The  home,  however,  was  soon  closed.  He 
went  first  to  Chicago  and  then  to  Dayton,  where 
his  mother  had  returned. 

Although  his  cough  was  about  as  bad  as  it 
could  be,  he  was  working  on  another  volume  of 
poems  which  came  out  during  the  early  winter 
months  of  1903  under  the  title  of  "Lyrics  of  Love 
and  Laughter". 

During  the  seven  years  of  his  illness,  he  often 
received  his  friends.  Sometimes  he  even  served 
tea  for  them.  Once  a  friend  who  had  business  in 
Dayton  called  him  by  telephone  saying  that  she 
was  coming  out  to  see  him.  When  she  reached 
his  home,  there  he  was  curled  up  on  a  couch  for 
all  the  world  like  a  small  boy.  He  was  writing  a 
poem  just  to  please  her.  Said  he  on  her  arrival, 
"Just  wait  a  moment,  I'm  hunting  for  a  rhyme". 
And  sure  enough,  in  just  a  few  moments  he 
handed  her  a  scrap  of  paper  on  which  was  written : 

TO  A  POET  AND  A  LADY 

You  sing,  and  the  gift  of  State's  applause 
Is  yours  for  the  rune  that  is  ringing. 

But  tell  me  truly,  is  that  the  cause  ? 

Don't  you  sing  for  the  love  of  singing? 

You  think  you  are  working  for  wealth  and  for  fame, 
But  ah,  you  are  not,  and  you  know  it ; 

For  wife  is  the  sweetest  and  loveliest  name, 
And  every  good  wife  is  a  poet ! 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR  [59 

Dunbar  continued  to  write  stories  and  poems 
almost  to  the  day  of  his  death,  which  came  on 
the  9th  day  of  February,  1906.  His  last  poem  he 
never  wrote  down,  but  simply  dictated  to  his 
stenographer. 


BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON 


BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON 


Chapter  III 

BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON 

EDUCATOR,  ORATOR,  AUTHOR,  STATESMAN 
1859-1915 

I 
BOYHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

EARLY  one  winter  morning,  about  sixty 
years  ago,  a  big  rooster  began  flapping  his 
wings  and  crowing — flap,  flap,  flap — cock-a- 
doodle-doo,  cock-a-doodle-doo.  Then  a  little 
rooster  began  cock-a-doodle-doo,  cock-a-doodle- 
doo.  Then  here,  there  and  everywhere  was  the 
sound — flap,  flap,  cock-a-doodle-doo — until  all 
Franklin  County,  Virginia,  seemed  to  have  wings 
and  crowing  apparatus. 

In  the  midst  of  this  flapping  and  crowing, 
young  Booker  awoke,  rubbed  his  eyes  and  yawned. 
Then  he  jumped  out  of  bed,  his  feet  striking  the 
earthen  floor  and  his  teeth  chattering  in  spite  of 
the  blazing  fire  before  him.  The  wind,  whistling 
through  the  cracks  in  the  sides  and  the  roof  of  the 
cabin,  evidently  made  the  dirt  floor  very  cold  to 
his  feet. 

He  dressed  quickly,  having  only  three  pieces 

[63] 


64  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

to  put  on — a  flax  shirt  and  two  wooden  shoes. 
As  the  coarse  shirt  began  to  slip  down  over  his 
back,  it  felt  so  much  like  pin  points  or  chestnut 
burrs  against  his  flesh,  that  he  cried  "Ouch,  Ouch!" 
as  he  straightened  out  the  folds  of  his  shirt.  Then 
he  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed  to  put  on  his  wooden 
shoes.  He  pulled  at  the  pieces  of  rough  leather 
on  the  tops  of  them.  He  twisted  and  turned 
his  feet  until  they  adjusted  themselves  as  best  they 
could  to  the  shape  of  the  wooden  shoes.  As  he 
started  toward  the  fire,  the  sound  of  his  shoes — 
blump,  blump,  blump — caused  his  mother  to  look 
around. 

She,  being  the  plantation  cook,  had  been  so 
busy  getting  breakfast  for  fifty  or  more  planta 
tion  hands  that  she  had  scarcely  noticed  Booker 
until  now.  "Good  morning,  son",  she  said,  "run 
out  to  the  pan  and  wash  your  face.  Ma  wishes  you 
to  get  out  some  sweet  potatoes." 

Booker  could  not  run  very  fast  in  his  stiff  shoes 
but  he  went  out  as  quickly  as  he  could,  carrying  a 
gourd  of  water  in  his  hand.  He  washed  his  face 
and  soon  returned  with  a  field  hoe  on  his  shoulder. 
After  removing  several  boards  from  the  top  of 
the  potato  hole  in  the  middle  of  the  dirt  floor,  he 
began  to  dig  into  it  with  his  hoe.  First  he  dug 
out  some  of  the  loose  earth  and  then  some  of  the 


BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON  [  6.5 

straw.  He  dropped  down  on  his  knees  and 
pulled  out  many  potatoes  with  his  hands.  After 
clearing  a  place  for  them  on  the  hearth,  his  mother 
covered  them  over  with  hot  ashes. 

With  a  long,  flat  iron  she  turned  the  burning 
coals  from  the  big  skillet  lids.  The  smell  of  the 
corn-pone  and  of  the  roasting  potatoes  so  tanta 
lized  the  cat  that  she  slid  in  through  the  cat  hole  in 
the  lower  right-hand  corner  of  the  cabin  wall. 

Men,  women  and  children  hurried  from  all 
parts  of  the  plantation  to  snatch  a  bite  to  eat  at 
this  little  cabin.  Many  mouths  were  busy  eating 
corn-bread  and  molasses.  Here  and  there  a  crust 
of  bread  was  used  as  a  knife  and  fork  but  many 
just  plunged  their  fingers  into  the  molasses  and 
bread. 

Booker  stood  like  the  other  children  with  his 
tin  pan  while  molasses  was  being  poured  into  it. 
He  tipped  the  edges  of  the  pan  first  this  way  and 
then  that  way  so  that  the  molasses  might  run  all 
over  the  bottom  of  it. 

Several  months  later  things  were  all  changed. 
There  was  no  need  of  a  plantation  cook,  and  so 
Booker's  mother  was  getting  ready  to  go  away. 
One  morning  as  some  of  those  same  roosters 
flapped  their  wings  and  crowed  for  day,  a  rough 
little  cart  rolled  up  to  her  cabin  door.  Booker, 


66  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

his  brother  John,  and  his  mother  hurried  around, 
grabbed  up  their  few  bed  clothes,  stools  and  skil 
lets  and  threw  them  into  the  cart.  "Goodbye, 
goodbye",  they  said  to  their  friends.  And  off  they 
started  to  join  Booker's  stepfather  in  Maiden, 
West  Virginia. 

For  two  weeks  they  traveled,  sleeping  in  the 
open  air  and  cooking  their  food  out-of-doors  over 
a  log  fire.  One  night  they  started  to  camp  in  an 
old  empty  log  cabin.  Just  as  the  fire  had  gotten 
well  started  and  their  pallet  on  the  floor  was 
made,  a  large  black  snake  fully  a  yard  and  a  half 
long  dropped  down  the  chimney  and  glided  across 
the  floor.  They  ran  out  of  the  cabin  and  later  re 
moved  their  things  from  it.  The  next  day  they 
continued  their  journey. 

Early  one  evening,  as  they  began  to  drive  more 
slowly  in  search  of  a  good  place  to  stop  for  the 
night,  a  rider  came  by  with  his  horse  in  a  gallop 
and  bowed  to  them.  Booker  called  out,  "Mister, 
how  far  is  it  to  Maiden?" 

The  man  did  not  stop  but  answered,  saying, 
"About  two  miles  over  the  hill". 

The  little  cart  rolled  on  until  it  seemed  that 
they  had  gone  ten  miles  over  the  hill  instead  of 
two.  Finally  they  heard  men  swearing  and  quar 
reling.  They  saw  men  fighting  and  drinking  and 


BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON  [  67 

gambling.  Suddenly  a  man  stepped  up  and 
greeted  them,  "Hello,  hello,  howdy,  howdy".  It 
was  Booker's  stepfather  who  had  come  to  Maiden 
several  years  before. 

"Oh,  what  is  that,  Pa?"  Booker  exclaimed, 
"over  there  where  the  light  is?" 

"That  is  only  a  salt  furnace",  he  answered. 
"There  are  plenty  of  them  here.  I  have  a  job 
waiting  for  you  in  one  of  them".  In  a  few  days, 
just  as  he  had  been  told,  Booker  was  at  his  new 
job  in  a  salt  furnace. 

In  this  part  of  the  town,  in  that  part  and  all 
about,  people  were  asking  each  other,  "Have  you 
heard  of  the  school  that  is  to  open  in  Maiden? 
They  tell  me  that  the  teacher  is  already  here  and 
that  old  folks  as  well  as  children  can  go  to  it". 

This  question  was  asked  young  Booker.  His 
eyes  sparkled  and  his  face  lighted  up  on  hearing 
such  good  news.  Then  he  said  in  an  undertone, 
"Oh,  well,  I  can't  go  to  school  anyway  for  I  have 
to  work  all  day". 

When  the  school  began  there  were  many  happy 
faces,  old  and  young.  Every  night  Booker  in 
quired  about  the  school  and  tried  to  show  his 
mother  and  stepfather  how  he  could  work  and  go 
to  school  too.  After  a  great  deal  of  talking  about 
it,  they  arranged  one  night  for  Booker  to  go  to 


i 


<>8  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

work  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  work  until 
nine  o'clock,  then  go  to  school  and  return  to  his 
work  after  school. 

The  next  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  Booker 
started  off  to  school  on  a  trot.  When  he  reached 
the  school-room  door,  panting  for  breath,  all  eyes 
were  turned  upon  him,  especially  because  he  did 
not  have  on  a  hat.  He  hesitated  a  moment  but 
went  in  just  the  same  and  took  a  seat. 

The  teacher  was  calling  the  roll.  "John  Jones", 
he  called.  "Present",  said  John  Jones.  "Mary 
Ann  Roberts",  he  added.  "Present",  said  Mary 
Ann  Roberts.  And  on  he  went  until  he  came  to 
the  end  of  the  roll. 

Then  he  turned  to  Booker  and  asked  his 
name.  Booker  twisted  and  turned  for  a  few  mo 
ments  and  said  nothing,  because  he  knew  he  had 
no  name  except  Booker.  Suddenly  he  remem 
bered  hearing  about  a  great  man  whose  name  was 
Washington.  When  the  teacher  asked  his  name 
again,  he  jumped  up  from  his  seat,  and  with  one 
hand  raised,  said,  "My  name  is  Booker  Wash 
ington".  He  had  found  a  name  for  himself  that 
day.  That  night  his  mother  sewed  two  pieces 
of  cloth  together  and  made  him  a  hat. 

He  seemed  very  happy  at  school.  One  after 
noon  he  and  his  classmates — about  fifteen  of  them 


BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON  [  69 

— were  sitting  on  a  long  pine-log  bench,  rocking 
to  and  fro  and  singing  out  their  spelling  lesson — 
"bTa,  k-e-r,  baker;  m-a,  k-e-r,  maker;  s-h-a,  k-e-r, 
shaker".  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Every 
body  was  silent.  The  door  opened  and  in  walked 
Booker's  stepfather.  He  quietly  explained  to  the 
teacher  that  he  had  gotten  Booker  a  good  job 
in  the  coal  mines  and  Booker  would  have  to  stop 
school.  The  next  morning  Booker  entered  a  coal 
mine.  He  hesitated  a  little  at  first  about  working 
there  because  of  the  darkness. 

In  this  mine  one  day,  he  overheard  two  men 
talking  of  Hampton  Institute.  He  crept  along 
in  the  darkness  of  the  mine,  close  enough  to  hear 
what  they  were  saying.  One  of  the  men  said, 
"Yes,  they  tell  me  that  Negro  boys  and  girls  can 
work  their  way  through  that  school".  The  con 
versation  continued.  Booker  Washington  eagerly 
grasped  every  word;  and  he  made  up  his  mind 
on  the  spot  to  go  to  Hampton  Institute  that  fall. 

That  fall,  in  1872,  with  a  cheap  little  satchel  of 
clothes  across  his  shoulder,  he  started  out  for 
Hampton  Institute.  The  journey  was  long  and 
there  were  no  through  trains,  therefore  stage 
coaches  were  used  much  of  the  way.  Booker  sat 
back  in  the  stage-coach  as  the  horses  trotted  along, 
counting  his  little  money  and  wondering  what  he 


70  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

would  do  when  it  was  all  spent.  Most  of  his  earn 
ings  had  been  used  by  his  stepfather.  When  there 
was  nothing  left  in  his  pockets,  he  walked  some 
and  begged  rides  on  wagons  until  he  reached 
Richmond,  Virginia.  It  was  late  in  the  night  and 
he  did  not  have  a  penny  left. 

He  walked  and  begged  for  a  place  to  sleep  un 
til  he  was  tired  out.  Soon  he  spied  a  high,  board 
sidewalk.  After  looking  around  and  assuring 
himself  that  no  one  saw  him,  he  crept  under  it 
and  slept  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  For  some  days 
he  worked  in  Richmond  and  slept  under  the  board 
sidewalk  at  night. 

When  he  had  earned  enough  to  pay  his  railroad 
fare  on  to  Hampton  Institute,  he  started  out 
again  and  reached  there  with  just  fifty  cents  in 
his  pocket.  He  was  tired ;  he  was  hungry ;  he  was 
dirty;  he  was  everything  but  discouraged.  One 
of  the  northern  teachers  looked  him  over  and  was 
not  sure  apparently  that  he  had  come  to  the  right 
place.  While  he  stood  anxiously  waiting,  he  saw 
others  freely  admitted  to  the  school. 

The  teacher  finally  turned  to  him,  saying, 
"Well,  come  with  me".  He  followed  her  to  a  reci 
tation  room.  She  said,  pointing  to  the  room,  "You 
may  sweep  that  room".  He  swept  the  room  three 
times.  He  moved  every  piece  of  furniture  and 


BOOKER  TAUAFERRO  WASHINGTON  [  71 

swept.  He  swept  every  closet  and  corner.  He 
dusted  everything  four  times.  He  dusted  the 
wood-work  around  the  walls.  He  dusted  every 
table  and  table  leg.  He  dusted  every  bench. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  teacher  and  said, 
"Well,  I  am  through  with  that  job". 

She  went  to  the  door  of  the  room,  walked  in  and 
looked  into  every  corner  and  closet.  She  took  out 
her  handkerchief  and  rubbed  it  over  benches  and 
wood-work.  Unable  to  find  one  bit  of  dirt  any 
where,  she  said,  "I  guess  you  will  do  to  enter 
this  school". 

His  first  two  nights  at  Hampton  Institute  were 
somewhat  trying  ones.  Although  he  was  thirteen 
years  old,  he  had  never  used  a  sheet  on  his  bed; 
and  now  there  were  two  sheets  on  his  bed.  The 
first  night  he  slept  under  both  of  them  and  the 
second  night  he  slept  on  top  of  both  of  them. 
However,  with  the  help  of  older  boys  he  learned 
the  right  way.  He  paid  his  expenses  that  year  by 
working  as  a  janitor.  He  brought  in  coal.  He 
made  fires.  He  removed  ashes.  He  swept  and 
dusted  class-rooms. 

Summer  time  came  and  Booker  Washington 
had  nothing  to  do.  He  scratched  his  head  as  he 
thought  of  selling  his  coat  or  of  trying  several 
other  plans,  none  of  which,  he  feared,  would  work. 


72  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

A  hotel  job  opened  up  to  him.  He  took  it  and  by 
working  hard  that  summer  and  washing  his  own 
clothes,  he  saved  all  the  money  which  he  earned. 
Several  more  summers  and  winters  of  hard 
work  came  and  went.  Finally  one  June  morning 
in  1875,  the  Hampton  teachers  were  busy  deco 
rating  the  little  chapel  for  the  commencement 
exercises.  People  began  to  gather.  The  students 
took  their  places.  The  choir  began  to  sing.  The 
graduating  class  marched  in  and  at  the  head  of 
the  line  marched  a  young  man  who  was  calling 
himself  now  Booker  Taliaferro  Washington.  He 
had  learned  that  his  mother  had  named  him 
Booker  Taliaferro  when  he  was  born. 


II 


EDUCATOR:  TUSKEGEE  INSTITUTE 

One  evening  just  six  years  after  Booker  Wash 
ington's  graduation  from  Hampton  Institute,  he 
and  General  Samuel  Chapman  Armstrong,  the 
founder  and  principal  of  Hampton  Institute, 
were  walking  to  the  railroad  station.  General 
Armstrong  was  talking  earnestly,  shaking  his 
head  and  making  gestures  now  and  then.  He  was 
telling  Booker  Washington  why  he  had  asked  him 
instead  of  any  other  boy  to  go  to  Tuskegee,  Ala- 


BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON  [  73 

bama.  Washington  was  listening  without  saying 
a  word.  Just  as  they  reached  the  station,  the 
sound,  t-o-o-t,  t-o-o-t,  rang  out  up  the  road. 
Then,  clang,  cling,  cling,  chuff,  che-e-e  was  heard. 

The  train  stopped  with  a  sudden  jolt.  Booker 
Washington  grasped  General  Armstrong's  hand. 
They  shook  like  warm  friends  and  bade  each  other 
goodbye.  The  former,  with  his  bag  in  his  hand, 
stepped  upon  the  platform  just  as  the  bell  rang 
and  the  train  began  to  move.  He  glanced  out  of 
the  window  at  the  General,  waved  his  hand  and 
sat  down. 

Apparently  he  tried  to  look  out  of  the  window 
and  forget  everything  but  he  kept  thinking  of 
what  General  Armstrong  had  said  about  his  work 
— of  his  two  years  of  teaching  at  Maiden,  his  night 
school,  his  debating  club  with  one  of  his  big, 
brawny  boy  debaters  waving  his  hand  and  saying, 
"Most  honorable  judges,  I  have  proven  to  you 
that  the  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword".  He 
reached  into  his  bag  and  took  out  a  picture  of  the 
little  library  which  he  had  started  for  the  school. 
He  looked  at  it  a  long  time,  then  he  brought  forth 
a  letter  which  a  friend  had  written  him  the  year  he 
was  studying  at  Wayland  Seminary,  Washing 
ton,  D.  C.,  and  read  that. 

He  placed  his  things  back  into  his  bag,  stretched 


74  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

himself  a  little,  yawned  and  fell  asleep.  Before 
the  break  of  day  he  awoke  and  read  several  other 
letters  telling  of  some  of  his  experiences  at 
Hampton  Institute:  for  instance,  his  teaching 
the  new  Indian  boys  how  to  brush  their  teeth, 
how  to  comb  and  brush  their  hair,  how  to  wash 
their  hands  and  faces.  One  of  the  letters  described 
Booker  Washington's  work  in  organizing  the 
Hampton  Institute  night-school  and  teaching 
in  it. 

Just  at  that  moment,  the  train  gave  a  sudden 
jolt  which  seemed  to  shake  him  out  of  his  deep 
reverie.  He  straightened  up  and  began  to  plan 
what  he  would  do  when  he  reached  Tuskegee. 
He  traveled  on  for  nearly  two  days  listening  to 
the  porter  call  out  the  names  of  the  many  towns 
and  cities  as  the  train  reached  them.  At  last  he 
heard  the  call,  "Tuskegee,  all  out  for  Tuskegee!" 
He  caught  up  his  bag  and  hustled  out. 

He  looked  all  around ;  but  seeing  no  one  looking 
for  him  he  went  ahead  making  inquiries  about 
the  building  in  which  he  was  to  open  his  school. 
He  looked  here  and  there  for  several  days  but 
the  only  buildings  he  could  find  for  his  use  were 
an  old,  dilapidated  church  and  an  old  shanty  with 
an  old  chicken-house  nearby. 

After  making  arrangements  for  the  use  of  these 


BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON  [  75 

old  buildings  and  hiring  an  old  mule  and  a  little 
wagon  to  take  him  over  the  country,  he  set  out 
and  visited  the  country  people  for  miles  around. 
He  ate  with  them  in  their  little  log  cabins.  He 
often  used  the  one  and  only  fork  on  the  table  and 
passed  it  on  to  somebody  else.  That  person  used 
it  and  passed  it  on  to  the  next  person.  Around 
that  fork  went  until  everybody  at  the  table  had 
had  a  chance  to  use  it.  He  often  slept  with  a 
family  in  its  one-room  cabin  when  there  were  so 
many  in  that  family  that  he  had  to  go  out  of  doors 
to  undress  and  dress.  Still  he  kept  on  visiting 
for  several  months  until  he  had  seen  what  the 
people  needed,  and  had  advertised  his  school. 

On  the  morning  of  July  4,  1881,  the  doors  of 
the  old  dilapidated  church  in  Tuskegee  were  pulled 
as  wide  open  as  the  sagging  walls  would  permit. 
An  old  cracked  bell  was  rung,  and  in  walked 
thirty  pupils,  some  of  whom  were  forty  years  old. 
Not  one  was  less  than  fifteen  years  old.  Every 
one  worked  hard  and  things  went  well  until  one 
day  a  hard  rain  came.  Water  streamed  in  upon 
Mr.  Washington  so  that  a  pupil  had  to  hold  an 
umbrella  over  him  while  he  heard  the  recitations. 

Six  weeks  of  such  teaching  passed  and  then 
another  teacher,  Miss  Olivia  Davidson  of  Ohio, 
came  to  assist  Mr.  Washington.  She  taught 


76  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

school  and  gave  festivals  and  suppers  in  order  to 
raise  five  hundred  dollars  to  pay  for  a  school 
farm.  All  of  the  people  for  miles  around  wanted 
to  help  the  school.  Some  brought  five  cents ;  some 
brought  stalks  of  sugar  cane.  Others  brought 
quilts. 

One  old  lady  about  seventy  years  old,  clad  in 
just  clean  rags,  hobbled  in  one  morning  on  a  cane. 
She  said,  "Mr.  Washington,  God  knows  I  spent 
the  best  days  of  my  life  in  slavery.  God  knows 
I  am  ignorant  and  poor;  but  I  know  what  you 
and  Miss  Davidson  are  trying  to  do.  I  know  you 
are  trying  to  make  better  men  and  better  women 
of  my  race.  I  haven't  any  money,  but  I  want  you 
to  take  these  six  eggs  which  I've  been  saving  up, 
and  I  want  you  to  put  these  six  eggs  into  the  edu 
cation  of  these  boys  and  girls". 

Mr.  Washington  and  his  assistant  worked  very 
hard  to  raise  the  five  hundred  dollars  and  to  get 
the  school  started  well.  He  knew  how  much  the 
farm  would  mean  to  the  school.  He  knew  also 
that  the  students  did  not  like  clearing  the  land 
and  working  the  field,  and  so  one  day  he  planned 
what  he  called  a  "chopping  bee".  With  his  ax 
swung  across  his  shoulder  he  led  the  students  out 
to  the  farm  and  made  a  challenge  to  outchop  any 
of  them.  The  old  ones  chopped  and  the  young  ones 


BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON  [  77 

chopped.  The  boys  chopped  and  the  girls 
chopped.  All  of  them  chopped  but  none  out- 
chopped  their  teacher,  Booker  Washington. 

Boys  and  girls  who  look  at  the  picture  of  Tus- 
kegee  Institute  as  it  is  today  will  probably  say: 
"My!  Can  this  be  the  school  for  which  the  old  lady 
brought  the  six  eggs?  Can  this  be  the  school  for 
which  the  'chopping  bee'  was  held?" 

It  is  really  that  same  school.  Booker  Wash 
ington  and  his  assistants  worked  so  faithfully  and 
well  that  Tuskegee  Institute  has  received  not  only 
the  six  eggs  but  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars. 
The  gifts  had  increased  so  that  when  Tuskegee 
Institute  was  thirty-four  years  old  it  owned  two 
thousand  four  hundred  acres  of  land,  with  one 
hundred  and  eleven  buildings  on  the  grounds.  In 
addition  to  this,  Tuskegee  Institute  had  about 
twenty  thousand  acres  of  land  given  it  by  the 
United  States  Government  as  an  endowment. 
The  number  of  students  in  thirty-four  years  had 
increased  from  thirty  to  about  two  thousand  and 
the  number  of  teachers  had  increased  from  one 
to  two  hundred. 

In  the  early  days  the  school  had  a  dark  base 
ment  dining-room  but  now  there  is  a  large 
dining-hall  on  the  campus.  In  the  early  days  the 
few  knives  and  forks  had  to  be  passed  around 


78  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

among  the  students  almost  continuously  during  a 
meal ;  but  now  there  are  sufficient  knives  and  forks 
for  all.  Once  upon  a  time  the  students  used  rough 
boxes  and  stools  for  dining-room  seats  but  now 
there  are  dining-room  chairs  for  all.  In  the  early 
days  Tuskegee  Institute  had  no  kitchen.  Blazing 
fires  were  made  out  of  doors  upon  which  pots  and 
skillets  were  set  for  cooking.  Many  a  time  a  girl 
would  step  on  a  live  coal,  throw  down  the  skillet 
lid  and  hop  away  to  nurse  her  burn  for  a  moment ; 
now  there  are  modern  kitchens  at  Tuskegee  In 
stitute. 

Perhaps  you  have  already  begun  to  think  that 
Tuskegee  Institute  with  about  one  hundred  large 
brick  buildings  must  look  like  a  little  city.  It 
really  does.  All  the  buildings  and  the  grounds 
are  lighted  by  the  school's  own  electric  plant. 
Many  industries  such  as  domestic  science,  carpen 
try  and  blacksmithing  are  taught. 

The  brick-making  industry  at  Tuskegee  Insti 
tute  is  an  evidence  of  the  fact  that  Booker  Wash 
ington  believed  in  the  saying,  "If  at  first  you 
don't  succeed,  try,  try  again".  He  and  his  students 
of  the  early  days  made  their  first  brick  kiln  for 
burning  bricks,  but  the  kiln  would  not  work.  They 
made  a  second  kiln  and  that  was  a  failure;  a  third 
brick  kiln  with  about  25,000  bricks  in  it  fell  in 


BOOKER  TALIAFEKRO  WASHINGTON  [  79 

the  middle  of  the  night  just  when  the  bricks  were 
nearly  ready  to  be  taken  out.  This  seemed  like 
hard  luck,  but  it  appears  that  Booker  Washington 
was  never  in  all  his  life  wholly  discouraged  at 
anything.  He  started  a  fourth  brick  kiln  with  the 
$15  which  he  secured  by  pawning  his  watch.  To 
day  1,200,000  first-class  bricks  are  manufactured 
in  one  season  by  the  students  of  Tuskegee  In 
stitute. 

Every  day  in  the  year  visitors  go  to  Tuskegee 
Institute  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  They  go 
to  the  shops  where  the  boys  are  busy  making 
wagons,  buggies,  cabinets  and  all  sorts  of  things. 
They  go  to  the  trades  building  where  the  girls 
are  cooking,  sewing,  making  hats  and  doing  laun 
dry  work.  They  go  to  the  hospital,  to  the  library, 
to  the  classrooms,  to  the  dining-hall  and  other 
buildings.  They  go  to  the  farm,  to  the  piggery, 
to  the  dairy  farm.  They  go  to  the  chapel.  They 
hear  the  students  sing  and  see  them  march  out. 
Now  and  then  at  chapel  exercises  they  see  a  girl 
or  a  boy  called  out  of  a  long  line  because  a  button 
is  off,  or  shoes  are  not  polished,  or  clothing  is  not 
neat  and  tidy. 

These  visitors  go  away  saying  to  their  friends 
that  Booker  Washington  was  certainly  a  great 
man.  Some  go  to  their  homes  far  away  and  start 


80  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

schools  like  Tuskegee  Institute.  Other  visitors 
have  been  there,  studied  the  school  and  gone  away 
to  do  honor  to  Booker  Washington. 

Ill 

ORATOR,,  AUTHOR,  STATESMAN 

In  1896  Harvard  University,  one  of  the  great 
est  colleges  in  the  country,  honored  Booker  Wash 
ington.  He  spoke  at  the  University  and  was  later 
given  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts.  Five  years 
later,  another  great  institution,  Dartmouth  Col 
lege,  invited  him  there  and  gave  him  the  degree 
of  Doctor  of  Laws. 

Wherever  he  spoke,  people  came  from  far  and 
near  to  hear  him.  He  spoke  once  in  Essex  Hall 
in  London,  England,  and  once  at  Bristol,  Eng 
land. 

Just  after  the  Spanish- American  War,  he  was 
the  peace-celebration  speaker  at  the  Chicago 
Auditorium.  In  the  auditorium  that  day  there 
were  thousands  of  people,  among  whom  was  the 
President  of  the  United  States.  And  many  thou 
sands  were  on  the  outside  trying  to  hear  Booker 
Washington  speak. 

In  the  middle  of  his  speech  he  said  as  he  walked 
across  the  platform,  "Nobody  should  help  a  lazy, 


BOOKER  TALIAFERRO  WASHINGTON  [81 

shiftless  person".  Then  he  smiled,  opened  his  eyes 
wide  and  said,  "Let  me  tell  you  this  story:  Once 
there  were  two  men  seeking  to  cross  a  river  by 
means  of  a  ferry  boat.  The  fare  across  was  three 
cents.  One  of  the  men,  who  seemed  to  be  shiftless 
and  lazy,  said  to  the  other,  'Please  let  me  have 
three  cents  to  cross  the  ferry;  I  haven't  a  penny'. 
The  other  man  said  to  him,  'I  am  sorry  not  to 
accommodate  you,  boss,  but  the  fact  is  that  a  man 
who  hasn't  three  cents  is  just  as  bad  off  on  one 
side  of  the  river  as  he  is  on  the  other'  ".  The  audi 
ence  laughed  and  applauded. 

He  said  further:  "But  let  me  tell  you,  my 
friends,  everybody  is  not  like  the  man  who  did 
not  have  three  cents.  Early  one  morning  not  long 
ago,  I  was  out  watching  my  chickens  and  pigs. 
A  pig  I  think  is  one  of  the  grandest  of  animals. 
Old  Aunt  Caroline  came  striding  by  with  a  bas 
ket  on  her  head.  I  said  to  her,  'Where  are  you 
going,  Aunt  Caroline?'  She  replied,  'Lord  bless 
you,  Mr.  Washington,  I've  already  been  where 
I  was  going'  ".  The  audience  laughed  again. 

The  singing  that  day  lifted  one  up  and 
made  one  feel  like  marching  and  humming.  Some 
of  the  poor  people  present  wept  for  joy,  and  at 
the  close  of  the  meeting  Booker  Washington 
shook  hands  with  many  of  them.  He  seemed  to 


82  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

understand  them  and  to  know  their  needs.  When 
he  wrote  his  book,  "Up  from  Slavery",  much  of 
which  was  written  on  the  train,  he  told  how  poor 
he  himself  was  once. 

Dr.  Washington  traveled  all  over  the  North, 
East,  West  and  South.  He  traveled  in  a  special 
car  through  Arkansas,  Oklahoma,  Mississippi, 
Tennessee,  South  Carolina,  North  Carolina,  Del 
aware,  Texas,  Florida,  Louisiana,  parts  of  Ala 
bama,  Georgia,  Virginia  and  West  Virginia. 

His  friends  began  to  say,  "Dr.  Washington 
looks  tired.  Let  us  send  him  and  his  wife  to 
Europe  on  a  vacation".  They  gave  his  school  a 
large  sum  of  money.  Then  they  talked  with  his 
wife,  Mrs.  Margaret  Murray  Washington,  who 
was  a  graduate  of  a  great  college  called  Fisk  Uni 
versity.  She  had  helped  Dr.  Washington  for  some 
years  in  his  work  and  knew  how  tired  he  must  be. 
These  friends  talked  and  urged  until  she  agreed 
to  go  too. 

All  arrangements  for  the  trip  were  completed. 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Washington  bade  goodbye  to  their 
friends,  sailed  across  the  ocean,  and  for  three 
months  went  here  and  there  through  Holland, 
Belgium,  France  and  England.  He  crossed  the 
ocean  a  second  time  and  then  a  third  time.  On 
these  trips  kings  and  queens  entertained  him  and 


BOOKER  TALIAFEKRO  WASHINGTON  [  83 

honored  him.  In  his  own  country,  presidents  of 
the  United  States  called  him  in  to  talk  over  im 
portant  matters. 

Following  one  of  his  trips  abroad,  he  wrote  a 
book  called  "The  Man  Farthest  Down",  in  which 
he  told  many  sad  stories  about  the  poor  and  igno 
rant  of  Europe.  He  wrote  about  the  women  whom 
he  saw  in  Europe  hitched  with  oxen  ploughing 
the  fields.  Among  his  other  books  are:  "The 
Future  of  the  American  Negro",  "A  History  of 
the  Negro"  and  "Working  with  the  Hands". 

He  worked  hard  and  seemed  to  hammer  out 
success  in  everything.  No  one  called  him  con 
ceited  and  yet  he  had  great  confidence  in  himself 
even  to  the  last.  When  the  doctors  in  New  York 
told  him  that  he  had  but  a  few  hours  to  live,  he 
said,  "Then  I  must  start  now  for  Tuskegee". 
He  was  a  very  sick  man  and  could  hardly  walk 
when  he  reached  the  station  but  he  refused  to  be 
carried  to  the  train  in  an  invalid's  chair.  For 
many  hours  the  train  sped  southward  before  it 
reached  Cheehaw,  the  junction  station  for  Tus 
kegee.  A  smile  came  over  his  face  as  he  drew 
near  the  school. 

However,  he  did  not  live  many  hours  after 
reaching  home.  It  had  been  his  custom  to  rise 
early  every  morning,  and  so  early  in  the  morning 


84  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

on  the  14th  of  November,  1915,  Booker  T.  Wash 
ington,  the  chieftain  and  the  servant  of  all  peo 
ples,  rose  and  departed  to  the  land  of  the  blessed. 
For  the  next  few  days,  the  Tuskegee  Institute 
grounds,  even  as  large  as  they  are,  were  almost 
packed  with  people  from  near  and  far.  The  poor, 
uneducated  people,  black  and  white,  from  the 
cotton  fields  of  Alabama  were  there.  Statesmen, 
scholars,  editors,  professional  men,  business  men 
and  just  men  were  there.  His  wife,  his  two  sons 
and  his  daughter  were  there.  Many  of  those  who 
were  present  said  that  the  mind  of  the  thinking 
world  was  there,  for  Booker  Washington  was  re 
garded  as  one  of  the  greatest  men  that  ever  lived. 


HARRIET  TUBMAN 


sur  roi  i>  HKK  mwuKKs  THKU.I  IM;  STOKIKS. 


Chapter  IV 

HARRIET  TUBMAN 

THE  MOSES  OF  HER  PEOPLE 
1820-1913 

ABOUT  one  hundred  years  ago,  people  in 
every  civilized  country  were  talking  about 
the  "underground  railroad"  in  the  United  States. 
The  "underground  railroad"  was  not  really  a 
railroad  under  the  ground,  but  a  secret  way  by 
means  of  which  slaves  escaped  from  their  masters 
in  the  South  and  reached  free  territory.  Reaching 
free  territory  sometimes  meant  escape  from  this 
country  into  Canada.  Passengers,  those  seek 
ing  to  escape  to  free  territory,  on  the  "under 
ground  railroad"  were  led  by  very  brave  and  dar 
ing  conductors.  Among  these  conductors  there 
was  a  woman  whose  name  was  Harriet  Tubman. 

When  Harriet  was  born  in  Dorchester  County, 
Maryland,  in  1820,  she  was  named  Araminta 
Ross.  After  she  grew  up,  she  called  herself  Har 
riet.  When  she  became  a  woman  she  was  married 
to  John  Tubman  and  was  called  Harriet  Tubman. 

Harriet  almost  died  with  the  measles  when  she- 
was  six  years  old.  Soon  after  she  recovered  from 
this,  her  master  threw  a  heavy  weight  at  her  and 

[87] 


88  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

injured  her  skull.  For  years  she  suffered  from 
pressure  on  her  brain  which  caused  her  to  fall 
asleep  at  any  time,  wherever  she  was,  whether  she 
was  seated  on  a  rail  fence  or  in  a  chair.  It  also 
caused  her  to  stagger  sometimes  as  she  walked. 
No  one  except  her  African  mother  seemed  to  care 
for  her  or  to  pay  any  attention  to  her. 

Early  one  morning  a  lady  came  driving  up  to 
the  home  of  Harriet's  master,  who  met  her  at  the 
gate  and  inquired  what  he  could  do  for  her.  She 
asked  for  a  slave-girl  to  care  for  her  baby,  but 
offered  very  low  wages.  The  master  shook  his  head, 
saying,  "I  can  not  furnish  you  a  girl  for  that". 
As  the  lady  pleaded  with  him,  he  stood  looking  on 
the  ground  and  knitting  his  brow.  Suddenly  he 
lifted  his  head  and  said,  "Yes,  I  have  just  one 
girl  whom  you  may  take;  keep  your  eye  on  her 
because  she  may  not  have  all  that  is  coming  to 
her".  Harriet  was  called,  placed  in  a  wagon  and 
driven  away  to  the  lady's  home. 

The  first  thing  the  lady  gave  her  to  do  was  to 
sweep  and  dust  the  parlor.  Harriet  cautiously 
tiptoed  into  this  wonderfully  fine  room,  amazed  at 
everything  she  saw.  She  finally  began  to  sweep 
in  much  the  same  way  as  she  had  swept  her 
mother's  cabin.  As  soon  as  she  had  finished  sweep 
ing,  she  took  the  dusting  cloth  and  wiped  off  the 


HARRIET  TUBMAN  [  89 

chairs,  the  table  and  the  mantel-piece.  The  parti 
cles  of  dust,  still  flying  here  and  there  over  the 
room,  soon  settled  on  the  furniture  again. 

About  this  time,  Harriet's  new  mistress  stepped 
in  and  began  to  look  around.  The  dust  lay  on  the 
table,  the  chairs  and  the  mantel  in  such  a  thick 
coating  that  she  spoke  very  harshly  to  Harriet 
and  ordered  her  to  do  the  work  all  over.  Har 
riet  swept  and  dusted  just  as  she  had  done 
before.  The  dust,  having  no  other  place  to  go, 
settled  again  on  the  furniture.  The  mistress  en 
tered  the  parlor  again,  bringing  with  her  this  time 
a  whip.  With  this  she  lashed  Harriet  with  a 
heavy  hand.  Five  times  before  breakfast  that 
morning  Harriet  swept  and  dusted  the  parlor. 

Just  as  she  had  gotten  her  third  whipping,  her 
mistress's  sister,  who  had  been  awakened  from  her 
morning  slumber,  opened  the  parlor  door.  "Why 
do  you  whip  the  child,  sister,  for  not  doing  what 
she  has  never  been  taught  to  do?"  she  asked. 
"Leave  Harriet  to  me  for  a  few  minutes  and  you 
will  see  that  she  will  soon  learn  how  to  sweep 
and  dust  a  room." 

The  sister  ordered  Harriet  to  open  the  win 
dows  first,  to  sweep  the  room  and  leave  it  a  while 
until  the  dust  settled,  and  to  return  then  and  wipe 
the  dust  from  the  furniture. 


90  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Harriet  looked  strangely  at  the  big  window, 
went  to  it  and  raised  it  inch  by  inch  until  it  was 
high  enough  to  fasten  by  a  latch.  She  set  in  again 
and  swept,  and  while  the  dust  was  settling,  she 
went  out  and  set  the  table  for  breakfast.  Then 
she  returned  and  dusted  the  parlor. 

That  night  she  was  ordered  to  sit  up  and  rock 
the  baby.  The  baby's  cradle  and  Harriet's  chair 
were  placed  near  her  mistress's  bed.  Occasionally 
Harriet's  eyelids  dropped  and  her  head  bobbed 
this  way  and  that  way.  The  cradle  kept  on  rock 
ing  because  her  foot  was  on  the  rockers.  Once  in 
a  great  while,  the  cradle  would  stop  and  the  baby 
would  begin  to  cry.  The  mistress  would  pick  up 
her  whip  and  give  Harriet  a  cut  across  the  head 
and  shoulders  which  would  make  her  jump  and 
almost  knock  the  cradle  over. 

Under  such  treatment,  Harriet  became  so  worn 
and  thin  that  the  lady  sent  her  back  to  her  master 
saying  that  she  wasn't  worth  a  six-pence.  Har 
riet  was  turned  over  to  her  mother,  who  nursed 
her  until  she  was  again  strong  enough  to  work. 

She  was  then  hired  out  to  a  man  who  made  her 
plow,  drive  oxen,  lift  a  barrel  of  flour,  and  some 
times  cut  a  half  cord  of  wood  a  day.  Soon  she 
became  ill  again.  She  lay  on  her  sick-bed  from 
Christmas  until  March.  Day  after  day  she  prayed, 


HARRIET  TUBMAN  [91 

saying,  "Oh,  Lord,  convert  old  Master;  change 
that  man's  heart  and  make  him  a  Christian". 
When  some  one  told  her  that  as  soon  as  she  was 
able  to  work,  she  would  be  sent  away,  she  changed 
her  prayer,  saying:  "Lord,  if  you  are  never  going 
to  change  that  man's  heart,  kill  him,  Lord,  and 
take  him  out  of  the  way,  so  he  will  do  no  more 
mischief".  Harriet's  master  finally  died  but  she 
continued  ill  for  a  long  time. 

Even  after  she  became  stronger  she  still  prayed 
at  every  turn.  When  she  went  to  the  horse-trough 
to  wash  her  face  and  hands,  she  said,  "Lord,  wash 
me  and  make  me  clean".  When  she  took  the  towel 
to  wipe  them,  she  cried,  "O  Lord,  for  Jesus'  sake, 
wipe  away  all  my  sins".  When  she  took  up  the 
broom  to  sweep,  she  groaned,  "O  Lord,  whatever 
sin  there  is  in  my  heart,  sweep  it  out,  Lord,  clear 
and  clean". 

Early  one  morning  many  of  the  slaves  in  the 
"quarters"  hurried  about  with  a  scared  look  on 
their  faces,  whispering  something  to  each  other 
as  they  passed.  The  news  had  leaked  out  that 
Harriet  and  two  of  her  brothers  were  to  be  sold 
and  sent  the  next  day  to  the  far  South.  As  soon 
as  the  news  reached  Harriet,  she  held  a  hurried 
consultation  with  her  brothers,  telling  them  of 
the  terrible  things  that  would  befall  them  if  they 


92  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

did  not  run  away  to  the  North.  As  they  stood  for 
a  while  looking  about  anxiously  and  ready  to 
move  on,  they  agreed  to  start  for  the  North  that 
night. 

Harriet  began  to  scratch  her  head  and  wonder 
how  she  might  tell  her  friends  that  she  was  going 
away.  She  thought  and  thought,  and  finally  hit 
upon  the  plan  of  telling  them  in  an  old  familiar 
song.  As  she  was  passing  the  next  cabin  door  she 
sang  out : 

When  that  old  chariot  comes, 
I'm  going  to  leave  you; 
I'm  bound  for  the  promised  land. 
Friends,  I'm  going  to  leave  you. 

I'm  sorry,  friends,  to  leave  you, 
Farewell !  Oh,  farewell ! 
But  I'll  meet  you  in  the  morning ! 
Farewell !  Oh,  farewell ! 

She  looked  forward  and  backward  and  all 
around  several  times.  No  overseer  was  in  sight. 
She  continued  to  sing,  casting  a  meaning  glance 
at  first  one  and  then  another  as  she  passed  along: 

I'll  meet  you  in  the  morning, 
When  you  reach  the  promised  land, 
On  the  other  side  of  Jordan, 
For  I'm  bound  for  the  promised  land. 

That  night  Harriet  and  her  brothers  spoke  for 
a  while  in  a  whisper  to  their  father  and  kissed  him 


HARRIET  TUBMAN  [  93 

good-bye.  Without  disturbing  their  dear  old 
mother,  each  started  out  quietly  in  slightly  dif 
ferent  directions,  but  all  towards  the  same  place. 
Soon  the  three  came  together.  The  brothers  be 
gan  to  say  to  Harriet  in  very  low  tones  that  they 
were  afraid  that  old  master  would  send  men  out 
for  them  and  capture  them.  They  stood  trem 
bling  with  excitement.  All  at  once,  one  of  them 
and  then  the  other  broke  away  and  ran  towards 
home  as  fast  as  they  could,  falling  now  and  then 
over  a  log  or  a  stump.  Harriet  stood  watching 
them  as  long  as  she  could  see  their  shadows  in  the 
starlight. 

Fixing  her  eye  ori  the  North  Star,  she  turned 
her  face  in  that  direction  and  went  forward.  All 
night  long  she  walked  until  the  peep  of  day,  then 
she  lay  down  in  the  tall  grass  in  a  swamp.  She 
lay  there  all  day.  The  next  night  she  started  out 
again.  Night  after  night  she  traveled,  occasion 
ally  stopping  to  beg  bread.  She  crouched  behind 
trees  or  lay  concealed  in  a  swamp  during  the  day 
until  she  reached  Philadelphia. 

On  her  arrival  in  Philadelphia  she  stared  at  the 
people  as  they  passed.  She  stood  gazing  at  the 
fine  houses  and  the  streets.  She  looked  at  her 
hands,  believing  that  they,  too,  looked  new.  After 
finding  a  place  to  stay,  she  walked  out  among  the 


94  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

better  looking  houses  and  began  to  ask  from  door 
to  door  if  any  one  was  needed  for  work.  Finally 
a  woman  came  to  the  door,  opened  it  just  a  little 
way  and  peeped  out  as  though  she  were  afraid. 
As  Harriet  was  asking  for  work,  the  lady  told 
her  to  wait  a  moment  while  she  ran  back  and 
pushed  her  frying-pan  further  back  on  the  stove. 
She  appeared  again  at  the  door,  questioned  Har 
riet  and  then  told  her  to  come  in. 

Harriet  walked  in  and  stood  listening  to  the 
lady's  instructions  about  cleaning.  Then  she 
raised  the  windows  and  began  to  sweep.  She 
swept  and  dusted  and  cleaned  all  day.  She  worked 
hard  the  next  day  and  every  day  until  pay-day, 
when  she  received  her  first  money.  She  hid  it 
away  with  great  care  and  continued  her  work. 
The  following  pay-days  she  went  to  the  same 
spot  and  hid  away  every  penny  of  her  money 
until  she  felt  that  she  had  enough  to  go  back 
South. 

She  gave  up  her  work  and  traveled  night  after 
night  until  she  was  again  back  on  the  plantation. 
She  hid  around  among  the  slaves  in  their  cabins. 
She  whispered  to  them  thrilling  stories  of  the  free 
country,  until  even  women  with  babies  were  get 
ting  ready  to  follow  her  back  to  the  North.  After 
drugging  their  babies  with  paregoric  and  placing 


HARRIET  TUBMAN  [  95 

them  in  baskets  which  they  carried  on  their  arms, 
they  set  out  with  "Moses",  as  they  called  her,  for 
the  free  country. 

They  forded  rivers,  climbed  mountains,  went 
through  the  swamps,  threaded  the  forests  with 
their  feet  sore  and  often  bleeding.  They  traveled 
during  the  night  and  kept  in  hiding  during  the 
day.  One  of  the  men  fell  by  the  wayside.  Harriet 
took  out  her  pistol,  and  pointing  it  at  his  head, 
said,  "Dead  men  tell  no  tales;  you  go  on  or  die!" 
He  arose  trembling  and  dragged  along  with  the 
party  until  they  reached  the  North. 

As  soon  as  Harriet  had  landed  this  party,  she 
began  working  again  and  making  preparations 
to  go  back  on  her  next  trip.  One  night  she  went 
back  to  the  plantation,  secured  a  horse  and  a  two- 
wheel  cart  and  drove  away  with  her  aged  mother 
and  father.  After  placing  them  on  the  train,  she 
traveled  in  the  cart  night  after  night  until  she 
made  her  way  through  Maryland  to  Wilmington, 
Delaware,  where  she  had  sent  her  parents. 

As  soon  as  the  three  of  them  met  in  Wilming 
ton,  Harriet  took  her  parents  to  a  well-known  un 
derground  railroad  station.  This  was  simply  the 
home  of  a  Quaker  friend.  He  gave  them  food 
and  shelter  and  each  a  new  pair  of  shoes.  He  fur 
nished  Harriet  with  money  to  take  her  parents 


96  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

on  to  Canada,  and  kept  the  horse  and  cart  for 
sale.  Harriet  and  her  parents  went  on,  making 
their  way  with  difficulty,  until  they  reached 
Canada. 

Harriet  remained  in  Canada  for  a  short  time 
only,  then  slipped  back  among  the  plantation 
cabins  in  Maryland.  Again  and  again  she  went 
back — nineteen  times — leading  away  in  the  dark 
ness,  in  all,  over  three  hundred  slaves.  The  slave 
masters  of  that  region  in  Maryland,  whence  so 
many  were  being  stolen  away,  after  trying  hard 
to  catch  Harriet,  offered  a  reward  of  $40,000  for 
her,  dead  or  alive.  They  posted  such  a  notice  in 
all  public  places. 

After  fifteen  years  of  such  adventure,  Harriet 
bought  a  little  home  place  near  Auburn,  N.  Y., 
and  settled  on  it  with  her  dear  old  parents.  Fre 
quently  responding  to  a  knock  at  the  door,  she 
arose  and  found  that  some  one  had  brought  to  her 
a  poor,  old,  homeless  person.  Without  hesitating 
to  ask  many  questions,  she  took  in  every  one  of 
them  until  she  had  twenty  old  people,  for  whom 
she  worked  and  sought  support. 

William  H.  Seward,  Governor  of  New  York, 
once  said  to  her  when  she  went  to  him  for  aid, 
"Harriet,  you  have  worked  for  others  long 
enough.  If  you  would  ever  ask  anything  for  your- 


HARRIET  TUBMAN  [  97 

self,  I  would  gladly  give  it  to  you  but  I  will  not 
help  you  to  rob  yourself  for  others  any  longer". 

Many  years  after  that,  Governor  Seward  died, 
and  a  large  number  of  persons  gathered  at  his 
funeral.  Many  very  beautiful  flowers  were  re 
ceived  by  his  family  on  that  sad  occasion.  On  the 
day  of  the  funeral,  just  before  the  coffin  was 
closed,  a  woman  as  black  as  night  stole  quietly 
in  and  laid  a  wreath  of  field  flowers  at  his  feet 
and  as  quietly  glided  out  again.  Friends  of  the 
family  whispered,  "It's  the  Governor's  friend, 
Harriet". 

Harriet  continued  to  work  and  take  in  homeless 
old  people  until  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War. 
At  that  time,  Governor  Andrew  of  Massachu 
setts  sent  for  her.  He  asked  if  she  would  go 
South  as  a  spy  and  a  scout,  and  if  need  be,  a 
hospital  nurse  for  the  Union  soldiers.  She  stood 
thinking  for  a  moment,  then  said  that  she  would 
go.  He  bade  her  return  home  and  be  ready  at  a 
moment's  notice.  Harriet  left  his  office  and  re 
turned  to  Auburn.  She  went  about  asking  friends 
to  look  out  for  the  old  people  in  her  home  while 
she  was  away. 

Soon  after  she  reached  home,  a  messenger  ar 
rived  with  orders  for  her  to  report  immediately. 
She  hastily  grabbed  a  few  necessary  things,  kissed 


98  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

her  parents,  saying  good-bye  to  them  and  to  the 
inmates  of  the  home,  and  hurried  away  to  join  the 
company  of  soldiers  on  its  way  south.  They  trav 
eled  several  days.  As  soon  as  they  arrived,  Har 
riet  was  ordered  to  act  as  a  scout  and  a  spy  for 
the  soldiers.  She  took  charge  and  led  them 
through  the  jungle  and  the  swamp.  She  ap 
proached  the  frightened  slaves,  often  gaining 
valuable  information  from  them.  She  stood  in  the 
battle-line  when  the  shots  were  falling  like  hail 
and  the  bodies  of  dead  and  wounded  men  were 
dropping  like  leaves  in  autumn. 

Being  called  upon  to  nurse  the  soldiers  in  the 
hospitals,  she  extracted  from  roots  and  herbs  what 
she  called  a  healing  substance.  As  she  went  to  a 
sick  soldier  and  felt  his  burning  forehead,  she 
often  poured  out  a  spoonful  of  her  medicine  and 
placed  it  in  his  mouth.  After  a  few  days  of  such 
treatment  frequently  a  soldier  smiled  at  her  and 
thanked  her. 

She  often  bathed  the  wounds  of  soldiers  from 
early  morning  until  late  at  night.  She  nursed 
many  with  smallpox.  Occasionally,  after  a  long 
day's  toil,  she  went  to  her  little  cabin  and  made 
fifty  pies,  several  pans  of  ginger-bread  and  two 
casks  of  root-beer.  One  of  the  men  went  through 
the  camps  selling  these  things  for  her.  Almost 


HARRIET  TUBMAN  [  99 

as  soon  as  she  obtained  the  money  from  the  sale  of 
them  she  mailed  it  on  to  her  old  parents  for  the 
support  of  their  home. 

Once  while  Harriet  was  on  this  trip  she  went 
with  some  gunboats  up  the  Combahee  River.  The 
frightened  slaves  along  the  way  left  their  work 
and  took  to  the  woods.  Some  of  those  who  fled 
peeped  out  from  behind  trees  at  the  gunboats 
and  ran  away  like  deer  when  they  heard  the  sound 
of  the  steam  whistle.  One  old  man  said,  "Well, 
Master  said  the  Yankees  had  horns  and  tails  but 
I  never  believed  it  till  now".  Eight  hundred  of 
these  people  were  taken  on  board  the  gunboats  to 
be  carried  to  Beaufort,  S.  C.  Some  of  them  be 
fore  going  aboard  grabbed  from  the  fire  and 
placed  on  their  heads  pails  of  smoking  rice. 
Others  had  on  their  backs  a  bag  with  a  pig  in  it; 
and  some  carried  two  pigs  in  their  bags. 

Soon  after  this  trip  Harriet  returned  to  her 
little  home  place,  which  was  about  to  be  sold  to 
pay  off  a  mortgage.  A  friend,  the  daughter  of 
a  professor  of  Auburn  Theological  Seminary, 
hearing  of  Harriet's  trouble,  came  to  see  her. 
Harriet  greeted  her  friend  as  usual  and  invited 
her  to  sit  down;  she  too  sat  down  and  began  to 
tell  about  the  war.  Her  friend  listened  for  a  long, 
long  time  but  finally  interrupted  her  to  ask  about 


100]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

the  home  and  the  mortgage.  Harriet,  concealing 
nothing  from  her,  told  her  the  exact  conditions  of 
the  mortgage. 

The  friend  suggested  the  idea  of  having  her 
life  story  written  as  a  means  of  getting  money 
to  pay  off  the  mortgage.  Harriet  nodded  her 
head  in  full  agreement  with  what  her  friend  was 
proposing  and  asked  if  she  would  write  the  story. 
The  friend  counted  aloud  the  days  before  the 
mortgage  had  to  be  paid  off  and,  realizing  that 
they  were  not  many,  set  herself  at  once  to  the  task 
of  writing  the  story  of  Harriet's  life. 

Harriet  sat  with  her  friend  day  after  day,  each 
time  telling  of  some  incident  in  her  life  which  she 
had  not  told  before.  The  story  was  finally  finished 
and  published,  and  from  the  proceeds  of  it  the 
mortgage  was  paid  off. 

Harriet  worked  hard,  saying  all  the  time  that 
she  wished  to  free  the  home  of  debt  so  that  she 
might  give  it  to  her  race  to  be  used  as  an  Old 
Folks'  Home.  When  the  property  was  almost 
free  of  debt  and  there  were  twenty  aged  women  in 
the  home,  she  went  among  them  with  a  smile 
dividing  the  little  she  had,  until  she  was  stricken 
with  pneumonia  and  died. 

Following  her  death,  the  Harriet  Tubman  Club 


HARRIET  TUBMAN  [  101 

of  New  York  City,  together  with  the  whole  Em 
pire  State  Federation  of  Negro  Women's  Clubs, 
erected  to  her  memory  a  handsome  monument. 
This  monument  is  in  the  form  of  a  shaft.  One  of 
the  principal  designs  on  this  shaft  is  in  the  form 
of  three  oak  logs  out  of  which  flowers  are  growing. 

The  citizens  of  Auburn  held  a  memorial  meet 
ing  for  her  at  the  Auditorium  Theatre.  Booker 
T.  Washington,  the  mayor  and  the  ex-mayor  of 
Auburn  were  the  speakers  on  that  occasion.  The 
lower  floor  of  the  theatre  was  filled  and  every  box 
was  occupied.  In  one  box  sat  a  group  of  Civil 
War  veterans  and  in  another  sat  the  leading  so 
ciety  women  of  Auburn.  On  the  stage  sat  the 
Auburn  Festival  Chorus  and  Orchestra  and  the 
guests. 

In  the  presence  of  this  audience,  Harriet  Tub- 
man's  grand-niece  unveiled  a  large  bronze  tablet 
— the  gift  of  the  citizens  of  Auburn  to  the  memory 
of  Harriet  Tubman.  In  accepting  this  tablet,  the 
mayor  of  the  city  said,  "In  recognition  of  Harriet 
Tubman's  unselfish  devotion  to  the  cause  of  hu 
manity,  the  city  of  Auburn  accepts  this  tablet 
dedicated  to  her  memory". 

The  tablet  was  placed  in  the  county  court-house 
with  the  following  inscription : 


102] 


UNSUNG  HEROES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 

HARRIET  TUBMAN 

Born  a  slave  in  Maryland  about  1821 

Died  in  Auburn,  N.  Y.,  March  10,  1913 

Called  the  "Moses"  of  her  people  during  the  Civil 
War.  With  rare  courage,  she  led  over  300  Negroes 
up  from  slavery  to  freedom,  and  rendered  invalu 
able  service  as  nurse  and  spy. 
With  implicit  trust  in  God,  she  braved  every 
danger  and  overcame  every  obstacle;  withal  she 
possessed  extraordinary  foresight  and  judgment, 
so  that  she  truthfully  said,  "On  my  underground 
railroad  I  never  ran  my  train  off  the  track  and  I 
never  lost  a  passenger." 


ALEXANDER  SERGYEYEVICH  PUSHKIN 


Chapter  V 

ALEXANDER  SERGYEYEVICH  PUSHKIN 

POET  AND  DRAMATIST 
1799-1837 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  in  Moscow, 
Russia,  a  little  boy  whose  name  was  Alexan 
der  Pushkin.  Sometimes  people  would  look  at 
him  and  whisper,  "Is  he  not  homely?  He  is 
just  like  his  great-grandfather.  His  great 
grandfather,  Abram  Hannibal,  an  African,  was 
captured  on  the  shores  of  Africa  and  brought  to 
Constantinople  as  a  slave.  Abram  Hannibal's 
son,  Hannibal,  who  was  Pushkin's  grandfather, 
was  a  distinguished  Russian  general  during  the 
reign  of  Katherine  II". 

Pushkin's  mother  often  looked  at  him  as  he  sat 
in  a  sort  of  stupor  and  pitied  him.  His  father 
would  come  into  the  house,  kiss  the  other  children, 
and  pay  no  attention  to  him.  His  grandmother 
and  his  nurse  often  wondered  why  he  would  not 
run  and  play  like  the  other  children.  Sometimes 
his  nurse  would  take  him  by  the  hand  and  spin 
around  the  room  while  she  sang  to  him. 

One  day  after  such  a  spin,  his  grandmother 
called  out,  speaking  in  no  uncertain  tones,  "Alex- 

[105] 


106  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

ander,  Alexander,  come  here!"  As  he  approached 
her  in  a  sleepy  fashion,  she  said,  "Not  awake  yet! 
Oh,  if  I  could  be  a  bear  just  for  a  moment,  I'd 
make  you  run — Boo!"  she  added,  as  she  jumped 
at  him.  He  laughed  and  tore  around  the  room 
like  a  little  pony.  She  looked  on  in  great  surprise. 

He  ran  and  ran  until  he  was  all  tired  out,  then 
he  rushed  up  to  her,  grabbed  her  about  the  waist, 
saying,  "Tell  me  about  the  three  hundred  and 
fifty  big  lobsters  again,  please,  grandmother". 

"Sit  down  then.  If  you  will  listen  now,  I  may 
tell  you  about  many  other  things  which  I  have 
seen  in  Russia",  she  said. 

She  began,  "In  St.  Petersburg,  which  is  the 
capital  of  Russia,  there  is  a  large  palace  called 
the  Winter  Palace.  This  palace  is  the  largest 
building  in  Europe.  In  it  there  are  large  rooms 
called  state  rooms.  The  walls  of  these  rooms  are 
covered  with  gold  plates  and  dishes.  There  are 
also  five  hundred  other  rooms.  The  ballroom 
holds  five  thousand  guests,  allowing  a  place  for 
the  musicians  and  space  for  dancing.  Sometimes 
great  suppers  are  prepared  for  the  balls. 

"At  one  of  these  balls,  once  upon  a  time,  the 
waiters  brought  in  three  hundred  and  fifty  dishes 
of  chicken,  each  dish  containing  three  chickens 
with  salad  and  jelly;  three  hundred  and  fifty  large 


ALEXANDER  SERGYEYEVICH  PUSHKIN     [  107 

lobsters,  with  mayonnaise  sauce;  three  hundred 
and  fifty  tongues ;  three  hundred  and  fifty  dishes 
of  cold  meats;  three  hundred  and  fifty  dishes  of 
ices ;  three  hundred  and  fifty  dishes  of  creams  and 
jellies;  several  hundred  gallons  of  soup  of  differ 
ent  kinds,  and  two  thousand  bundles  of  asparagus 
boiled  for  the  salads.  In  addition  to  this,  they 
brought  in  cakes,  biscuits,  fruit  and  wine". 

"Whew!  The  people  must  have  burst  after  eat 
ing  all  of  that!"  exclaimed  Alexander. 

"Listen,  now",  continued  his  grandmother. 
"Then  there  is  in  this  palace  one  room  with  eight 
pairs  of  doors  made  of  tortoise-shell,  trimmed  with 
gold.  There  is  also  a  picture-gallery  containing 
some  of  the  finest  works  of  art.  There  is  a  museum 
in  which  all  sorts  of  relics  are  found — even  the 
stuffed  horse  and  dogs  of  Peter  the  Great.  Here 
and  there  among  the  state  rooms  there  are  winter 
gardens.  And  in  one  of  these  gardens,  there  are 
hundreds  of  canary  birds  flitting  among  the  palms 
and  over  the  fountains  of  gold-fish.  There  are 
writing  tables  and  presses  which  on  being  opened 
play  beautiful  tunes." 

"Can  anybody  open  these  tables,  grand 
mother?"  Alexander  asked. 

"No",  she  said,  "only  by  special  permission  can 
people  enter  the  palace." 


108  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

"Is  all  of  this  really  true,  grandmother?"  Alex 
ander  asked  again. 

"Yes,  indeed",  his  grandmother  said. 

They  sat  for  a  few  moments  without  saying  a 
word.  Alexander  nestled  closer  to  his  grand 
mother  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  She  smiled  and, 
shuddering  a  bit,  said:  "But  oh,  the  poor  people 
of  Russia !  They  live  in  two-room  cabins.  In  one 
of  these  cabins  sometimes  as  many  as  eleven  older 
people  and  twenty-five  children  live.  They  actu 
ally  knock  each  other  down  many  times  in  moving 
about  the  cabin.  One  of  the  rooms  usually  has  in 
it  a  stove,  a  table,  a  wooden  bench,  two  chairs,  and 
a  lamp,  if  the  family  is  not  too  poor  to  have  it. 
The  other  room  often  has  in  it  no  furniture  at  all. 
The  father  and  mother  and  as  many  of  the  chil 
dren  as  can  be  fitted  on  top  of  the  stove,  sleep 
there.  The  others  use  pillows  and  lie  on  the  floor 
in  their  clothing".  She  stopped  talking,  listened 
for  a  moment,  then  said,  "I  hear  the  nurse  coming. 
I  must  go  now". 

She  rose.  Alexander  caught  her  by  the  hands. 
She  said,  "Next  time,  grandmother  will  tell  you 
more.  She  will  tell  you  about  a  great  big  bell 
which  weighs  nearly  four  thousand  pounds.  At 
least  forty  men  can  stand  under  it.  Let  me  go". 

Alexander  was  really  awake  now.  He  stretched 


ALEXANDER  SERGYEYEVICH  PUSHKIN     [  109 

his  eyes  and  said,  "Oh — Oh,  forty  men  under  one 
bell,  whew!" 

His  grandmother  hurried  out,  found  the  nurse 
and  told  her  how  wide-awake  Alexander  seemed. 
The  nurse  gleefully  took  out  a  little  book  and 
wrote:  "Alexander  wakes  up  in  the  year  1807, 
when  he  is  eight  years  old".  She  went  for  him 
and  took  him  for  a  walk.  Much  of  the  time,  he  ran 
ahead  of  her,  playing  and  calling  back  to  her. 

From  this  time  on,  he  read  books,  among  which 
was  his  uncle's  book  of  poems.  At  the  age  of  ten 
he  began  to  write  poems  and  little  plays  himself. 
His  father,  deeply  interested  in  him  now,  sent  him 
at  the  age  of  twelve  to  a  very  expensive  school 
which  only  the  sons  of  the  nobility  could  attend. 

Young  Pushkin  began  at  once  to  criticise  the 
school  and  the  teachers.  He  read  in  the  library 
and  wrote  poems  the  greater  part  of  each  day. 
His  first  poems  were  published  when  he  was  fif 
teen  years  old.  Soon  after  this,  he  began  to  edit 
the  school  paper  and  further  neglect  his  studies. 
During  his  six  years  in  this  school,  his  reports 
were  entirely  unsatisfactory  to  his  parents. 

On  leaving  school,  he  became  a  clerk  for  the 
Russian  Government.  He  mingled  in  the  gay 
est  society  and  soon  offended  the  government  by 
writing  a  poem  called  "Ode  to  Liberty".  He 


110  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

was  immediately  hurried  far  away  to  Southern 
Russia.  One  day,  on  his  way  to  a  neighboring 
town  in  Southern  Russia,  he  met  a  band  of 
gypsies  whom  he  joined,  and  with  whom  he  trav 
eled  for  a  while. 

Pushkin  soon  offended  some  one  in  Southern 
Russia,  and  had  to  be  sent  to  his  father's  estate, 
in  a  still  more  remote  part  of  the  country.  His 
father  did  not  even  permit  him  to  associate  with 
the  other  children.  However,  he  spent  his  time 
during  these  two  years  in  this  far-away  section 
writing  poetry. 

After  returning  to  St.  Petersburg,  he  went  to 
a  ball  one  evening,  and  there  met  a  young  girl 
fifteen  years  old,  with  whom  he  danced.  They  be 
gan  to  correspond,  and  three  years  later  were 
married.  Pushkin  was  then  receiving  a  salary  of 
$2,550  a  year.  He  and  his  wife  entertained  lav 
ishly  and  wore  the  best  of  clothing;  therefore  he 
had  to  borrow  a  great  deal  of  money.  His  anxiety 
about  money  seemed  to  haunt  him  to  the  extent 
that  all  inclination  to  write  poetry  fled. 

He  and  his  brother-in-law  engaged  in  many 
quarrels.  Pushkin  finally  challenged  him  to  a 
duel,  His  brother-in-law  accepted.  On  the  eighth 
of  February,  1837,  they  met  face  to  face,  each 
with  a  sharp  weapon  in  his  hand.  Each  made 
a  thrust  at  the  other.  The  brother-in-law  jumped 


ALEXANDER  SERGYEYEVICH  PUSHKIN     [111 

aside,  warding  off  the  blow,  but  Pushkin  fell 
writhing,  with  the  blood  streaming  from  his 
wound.  Two  days  later  he  died  in  St.  Petersburg. 

After  his  death  the  Czar  of  Russia  furnished 
$76,500  to  publish  his  works  and  to  pay  off  his 
debts.  A  great  celebration  was  held  at  Moscow 
in  1880  in  memory  of  him.  It  was  said  to  be  the 
greatest  event  in  Russian  literary  history.  Dur 
ing  this  celebration,  a  statue  of  Pushkin,  the 
great  national  poet  of  Russia,  was  erected  at 
Moscow. 

His  greatest  poem  bears  the  title  "Eugenie 
Onyegin"  and  his  greatest  drama  is  "Boris 

Godunoff". 

THE  BIRDLET 

(Translated  from  the  Russian  by  IVAN  PANIN) 

God's  birdlet  knows 

Nor  care,  nor  toil; 

Nor  weaves  it  painfully 

An  everlasting  nest. 

Thro'  the  long  night  on  the  twig  it  slumbers ; 

When  rises  the  red  sun 

Birdie  listens  to  the  voice  of  God 

And  it  starts,  and  it  sings. 

When  Spring,  Nature's  Beauty, 

And  the  burning  summer  have  passed, 

And  the  fog,  and  the  rain, 

By  the  late  fall  are  brought, 

Men  are  wearied,  men  are  grieved, 

But  birdie  flies  into  distant  lands, 

Into  warm  climes,  beyond  the  blue  sea: 

Flies  away  until  the  spring. 


112  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

WINTER  MORNING 

(Translated  from  the  Russian  by  IVAN  PANIN) 

Frost  and  sun — the  day  is  wondrous ! 
Thou  still  art  slumbering,  charming  friend. 
'Tis  time,  O  Beauty,  to  awaken: 
Ope*  thine  eyes,  now  in  sweetness  closed, 
To  meet  the  Northern  Dawn  of  Morning. 
Thyself  a  north-star  do  thou  appear ! 

Last  night,  remember,  the  storm  scolded, 

And  darkness  floated  in  the  clouded  sky; 

Like  a  yellow,  clouded  spot 

Thro*  the  clouds  the  moon  was  gleaming — 

And  melancholy  thou  wert  sitting — 

But  now   .    .    .   thro'  the  window  cast  a  look 

Stretched  beneath  the  heavens  blue — 
Carpet-like  magnificent — 
In  the  sun  the  snow  is  sparkling; 
Dark  alone  is  the  wood  transparent, 
And  thro'  the  hoar  gleams  green  the  fir, 
And  under  the  ice  the  rivulet  sparkles. 

Entire  is  lighted  with  diamond  splendor 

Thy  chamber   .    .    .  with  merry  crackle 

The  wood  is  crackling  in  the  oven. 

To  meditation  invites  the  sofa. 

But  know  you  ?   In  the  sleigh  not  order  why 

The  brownish  mare  to  harness? 

Over  the  morning  snow  we  gliding, 
Trust  we  shall,  my  friend,  ourselves 
To  the  speed  of  impatient  steed; 
Visit  we  shall  the  fields  forsaken, 
The  woods,  dense  but  recently, 
And  the  banks  so  dear  to  me. 


ALEXANDER  SERGYEYEVICH  PUSHKIN     [  113 


THE  GYPSIES 

(Translated  from  the  Russian  by  IVAN  PAXIN) 

Over  the  wooded  banks, 
In  the  hour  of  evening  quiet, 
Under  the  tents  are  song  and  bustle 
And  the  fires  are  scattered. 

Thee  I  greet,  O  happy  race! 

I  recognize  thy  blazes, 

I  myself  at  other  times 

These  tents  would  have  followed. 

With  the  early  rays  to-morrow 
Shall  disappear  your  freedom's  trace, 
Go  you  will — but  not  with  you 
Longer  go  shall  the  bard  of  you. 

He  alas,  the  changing  lodgings, 
And  the  pranks  of  days  of  yore 
Has  forgot  for  rural  comforts 
And  for  the  quiet  of  a  home. 


BLANCHE  KELSO  BRUCE 


Chapter  VI 

BLANCHE  KELSO  BRUCE 

SENATOR — REGISTER  OF  THE  U.  S.  TREASURY 
1841-1898 

ON  the  first  day  of  March,  in  the  year  1841, 
a  little  slave  boy  started  out  from  Farmville, 
Virginia,  on  a  journey.  The  strange  thing  about 
it  was,  he  did  not  know  where  he  was  going  or  how 
long  the  journey  would  take.  However,  he  started 
out  and  traveled  west  and  south  and  east  and 
north  for  fifty- seven  long  years. 

After  his  first  few  years  of  experience  on  the 
road,  he  reached  Brunswick,  Missouri.  The  man 
ager  of  a  little  printing  office  in  the  town  offered 
him  a  job  which  attracted  him.  He  accepted  it 
and  remained  in  Brunswick  some  years,  assisting 
on  a  printing-press  as  a  "printer's  devil". 

At  the  noon  hour,  one  day,  he  sat  with  his  head 
buried  in  a  newspaper.  Some  one  said,  as  he 
slapped  Bruce  on  the  back,  "Hello,  Branch,  what 
are  you  doing  way  out  here?"  Bruce  seemed 
greatly  surprised  to  hear  some  one  call  him 
Branch,  for  he  had  long  ago  changed  his  name  to 
Blanche.  He  raised  his  head  and  looked  all 
around  but  did  not  see  any  one,  and  so  he  went 

[117] 


118]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

on  with  his  reading.  After  a  short  time,  "flap" 
went  a  sound.  Something  had  slapped  him  on  the 
back  of  his  neck. 

He  jumped  up  and  looked  around  but  still  did 
not  see  any  one.  Then  he  said  in  a  loud  voice, 
"Who  are  you,  anyhow?  Stop  slapping  me". 
And  with  that,  he  sat  down  again. 

A  little  shrill  voice  answered,  "Yes,  you  are  out 
here  working  on  a  printing-press.  I've  been  fol 
lowing  you.  You  came  all  the  way  from  Virginia. 
What  do  you  know  about  a  printing-press?  In 
the  early  days  no  one  at  all  could  do  any  printing 
in  your  state,  because  the  state  did  not  allow  it". 

Blanche  Bruce  scowled  and  frowned  and  looked 
all  around  but  did  not  see  any  one.  And  so  he 
shouted  out,  "Oh  hush !  I've  been  reading  all  about 
printing.  In  the  early  days  none  of  the  American 
colonies  encouraged  printing.  Some  of  the  print 
ers  were  even  arrested  for  printing.  For  thirty 
years  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  was  the  only 
place  in  America  where  printing  was  done,  and 
that  was  controlled  by  the  Government.  Now, 
you  shut  up!"  After  that,  he  arose  and  went  in 
to  begin  his  work. 

For  years,  Bruce  says,  he  heard  no  more  of  the 
little  voice,  but  he  could  not  forget  that  experi 
ence.  In  spite  of  it,  he  worked  in  Brunswick  until 


BLANCHE  KELSO  BRUCE  [119 

he  decided  to  move  on  to  Lawrence,  Kansas.  By 
this  time,  of  course,  he  had  grown  a  great  deal  in 
height  and  size.  His  love  for  books  had  not  waned, 
and  his  experience  in  the  Civil  War  had  taught 
him  a  great  deal. 

Seeing  that  the  few  Negro  children  in  Law 
rence  were  ignorant,  he  opened  a  school  for  them, 
but  finding  later  that  there  were  more  children  in 
Hannibal,  Missouri,  who  needed  a  school,  he  went 
there  and  began  teaching. 

Bruce  kept  on  thinking  and  moving  until  one 
day,  in  the  year  1866,  he  found  himself  at  Ober- 
lin,  Ohio,  sawing  wood.  "Whew!  I  am  so  tired, 
I  believe  I'll  sit  down  on  this  log  and  rest  a  while", 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  forehead  with  his  hand.  No  sooner  had 
he  sat  down,  than  "flap"  went  something  across 
his  back.  He  jumped  up,  looked  all  around  and 
said  to  himself,  "That's  strange!" 

"Yes,  it  is  strange",  said  a  little  shrill  voice, 
"but  I've  been  following  you  all  the  time.  I  hear 
you  are  out  here  sawing  wood  to  keep  yourself  in 
Oberlin  College.  Just  keep  at  it". 

Bruce  seemed  really  disturbed  now,  for  this 
voice  sounded  exactly  like  that  one  in  Brunswick, 
Missouri,  years  before.  Said  he  in  a  gruff  voice, 
"I  don't  know  what  you  are,  but  get  on  away  or 


120  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

I'll  saw  you".  He  finished  his  sawing  that  day 
and  sawed  many  more  days  before  the  end  of  the 
college  year. 

In  company  with  other  students  who  were  go 
ing  to  their  homes  for  the  summer,  he  left  Oberlin 
College  bound  for  some  place,  he  really  did  not 
know  where.  By  some  means  he  continued  to 
travel,  and  finally  found  himself  working  on  a  big 
vessel  which  ran  between  Council  Bluffs,  Iowa, 
and  St.  Louis,  Missouri.  One  day,  after  his  vessel 
was  anchored  at  St.  Louis,  he  secured  a  news 
paper  and  sat  down  to  his  old  trade.  He  read  and 
read  and  finally  came  across  an  article  which  told 
how  badly  Mississippi  was  needing  educated  men. 
Many  of  her  men  had  been  killed  in  the  war,  and 
until  more  food  was  raised  there  was  really  little 
left  for  the  people  to  eat.  Bruce  read  some  parts 
of  the  article  a  second  time,  and  while  he  sat  there, 
decided  to  start  for  Mississippi  as  soon  as  he 
could. 

The  way  soon  opened,  and  after  some  days  of 
travel,  he  found  himself  in  Mississippi.  Mississippi 
seemed  to  need  him  badly.  Very  soon,  the  mili 
tary  Governor- General  of  that  State  appointed 
him  to  take  charge  of  the  election  in  a  whole 
county.  The  name  of  that  county  was  Tallahat- 
chie.  He  traveled  over  it  from  town  to  town,  mak- 


BLANCHE  KELSO  BRUCE  [  121 

ing  speeches  and  influencing  men,  until  after  the 
election.  Within  a  year,  he  met  the  Mississippi 
Legislature  at  Jackson  and  was  elected  as  Ser- 
geant-at-arms  in  the  Senate.  In  this  position,  he 
assisted  in  many  ways  the  one  who  presided  over 
the  Senate.  If  any  one  in  the  Senate  was  disor 
derly,  he  arrested  him. 

Bruce  kept  on  traveling  until  the  Governor  of 
Mississippi  noticed  him  and  appointed  him  as  Tax 
Assessor  of  Bolivar  County  He  had  to  determine 
how  much  taxes  the  people  in  that  county  should 
pay.  He  afterwards  stepped  into  the  position  of 
Sheriff  and  Tax  Collector,  and  then  Superintend 
ent  of  Schools  of  that  county.  Before  leaving 
Bolivar  County,  he  bought  a  plantation. 

Blanche  Kelso  Bruce  had  been  traveling  for 
over  thirty  years  now.  The  greatest  milestone  in 
his  journey,  he  said  to  a  friend  one  day,  was  now 
in  sight.  The  State  of  Mississippi  had  elected  him 
to  represent  her  in  the  United  States  Senate  at 
Washington,  D.  C.  He  knew  little  about  the  cus 
toms  in  the  Senate,  but  one  day  he  found  himself 
sitting  in  the  Senate  Chamber  ready  to  receive 
what  was  called  his  induction  into  office. 

Something  within  him,  which  sounded  just  as 
plainly  as  the  shrill  voice  at  Oberlin  had  sounded, 
seemed  to  say,  "You  will  have  no  one  to  escort 


122  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

you  up  the  aisle  like  the  other  new  senators  have ; 
but  you  have  traveled  all  the  way  from  Farmville, 
Virginia,  as  a  slave,  to  Washington,  D.  C.,  as  a 
senator,  so  go  right  ahead". 

Senator  Bruce  straightened  up  and  said  to  him 
self,  "Ah!  I  guess  that's  the  something  within  me 
that  has  been  following  me  all  these  years.  It's 
my  turn  to  go  up  now,  and  I  am  going". 

When  he  had  gotten  about  half  way  up  the  aisle, 
a  tall  gentleman  touched  him  on  the  arm.  He  stood 
for  a  moment  as  if  he  were  dreaming  or  as  if  he 
were  listening  to  the  shrill  voice  again.  But  no,  this 
was  a  real  man  who  said  to  him,  "Excuse  me,  Mr. 
Bruce,  I  did  not  until  this  moment  see  that  you 
were  without  an  escort.  Permit  me.  My  name  is 
Conkling".  He  linked  his  arm  in  that  of  Senator 
Bruce  and  they  marched  up  to  the  desk  and  back 
to  their  seats  together. 

It  was  this  man,  Senator  Roscoe  Conkling  of 
New  York,  who  assisted  Senator  Bruce  in  gain 
ing  the  chairmanship  of  one  committee  in  the 
Senate  and  in  securing  a  place  on  other  commit 
tees.  A  few  years  later,  when  a  son  was  born  to 
Senator  and  Mrs.  Bruce,  he  was  named  Roscoe 
Conkling  Bruce,  in  honor  of  the  Senator. 

Although,  as  he  had  said,  the  greatest  mile 
stone  in  his  journey  had  been  reached,  and  he  had 


BLANCHE  KELSO  BRUCE  [  123 

served  in  the  Senate  for  six  years,  the  journey  was 
not  yet  completed.  He  went  on  and  became  Reg 
ister  of  the  United  States  Treasury. 

One  morning,  as  he  sat  in  his  office  looking  at  a 
five-dollar  bill,  some  one  seemed  to  shake  him. 
He  looked  up  but  there  was  nobody  in  the  room 
but  him.  He  said  that  he  thought  he  had  simply 
made  a  mistake,  but  soon  something  within  that 
sounded  just  like  the  little  shrill  voice  of  bygone 
days  seemed  to  say,  "You've  been  a  pretty  good 
traveler.  Here  you  are  again.  I  hear  that  not  a 
single  paper  dollar  can  be  issued  unless  the  name 
*B.  K.  Bruce,  Register  of  the  Treasury',  is 
•  stamped  in  the  lower  left-hand  corner  of  it". 

Mr.  Bruce  now  leaned  back  and  laughed  out 
right,  "Ha!  ha!  ha!"  He  seemed  to  realize  that 
all  these  years  no  voice  outside  of  his  inner  self 
had  been  talking  to  him. 

He  served  in  the  position  of  Register  of  the 
Treasury  for  four  years,  then  retired  to  private 
life  as  a  platform  lecturer.  Later,  he  entered  up 
on  his  duties  as  Recorder  of  Deeds  of  the  District 
of  Columbia  and  as  a  trustee  of  the  Washington 
Public  Schools.  The  end  of  his  long  fifty-seven- 
year  journey,  which  came  March  17,  1898,  found 
him  as  Register  of  the  United  States  Treasury 
for  a  second  time. 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR 


Chapter  VII 

SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR 

THE  MUSICIAN 
1875-1912 

IN  one  of  the  poorer  quarters  of  London,  Eng 
land,  a  curly-headed  boy  was  seen  one  day 
playing  marbles  with  one  hand  and  holding  a  little 
violin  in  the  other.  Passers-by  stopped  to  get  a 
closer  picture  of  the  little  marble-player  with  the 
violin  until  there  was  quite  an  audience  surround 
ing  him  and  the  other  boys  at  their  play. 

Many  of  the  people  in  the  houses  in  that  block, 
attracted  by  the  crowd,  either  came  to  their  doors 
or  looked  out  of  their  windows.  Among  those 
attracted  to  their  windows  was  the  conductor  of  a 
theatre  orchestra,  who  was  giving  a  music  lesson 
in  a  nearby  house.  He  spied  the  little  curly-headed 
boy  with  the  violin,  ran  out  and  coaxed  him  into 
the  house. 

After  talking  to  the  boy  a  few  minutes,  the 
orchestra  conductor  took  the  little  violin  and 
played  a  short,  beautiful  tune.  The  boy  in  turn 
agreed  to  play.  The  man  set  up  before  the  child 
a  simple  violin  selection  and  asked  if  he  could 
play  it.  Without  saying  a  word  the  little  fellow 

[127] 


128  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

looked  at  the  sheet  of  music,  lifted  his  little  violin 
to  his  shoulder  and  began  to  play  in  perfect  time 
and  tune.  The  orchestra  conductor  stood  looking 
on  in  surprise.  When  that  selection  was  finished, 
he  immediately  set  up  another.  This,  too,  the  boy 
played  with  the  same  ease. 

After  he  had  played  several  pieces  in  this  man 
ner,  the  orchestra  conductor  with  his  arms  about 
him  asked  his  name. 

"Samuel  Coleridge-Taylor  is  my  name",  re 
plied  he.  The  orchestra  conductor  next  asked 
the  boy  who  his  parents  were  and  where  he  lived. 
Little  Coleridge-Taylor  quickly  answered  the 
question  and  began  to  pull  away  from  his  new 
friend.  The  orchestra  conductor,  feeling  that  the 
boy  wished  to  get  back  to  his  fellow  marble-play 
ers,  patted  him  on  the  back,  assured  him  that  he 
would  come  to  see  him  soon  and  let  him  go. 

Little  Coleridge-Taylor  ran  every  step  of  the 
way  until  he  reached  the  place  where  he  had  been 
playing  marbles  with  the  boys.  He  looked  all 
around,  but,  seeing  no  one,  set  out  for  home.  As 
soon  as  he  reached  home,  he  began  to  tell  his 
mother  about  the  man  who  played  his  little  violin. 

The  orchestra  conductor  spoke  to  each  of  his 
students  that  day  about  the  curly-headed  boy  with 
the  violin.  Even  in  the  middle  of  a  lesson,  he 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [129 

stopped  occasionally  to  speak  about  the  boy.  As 
soon  as  his  day's  work  was  done,  he  set  out  making 
his  way  to  the  street  and  the  number  of  the  house 
which  Coleridge-Taylor  had  given  him.  He  kept 
on  looking  up  at  the  numbers  on  the  houses  until 
he  reached  the  right  one.  He  stepped  up  and  rang 
the  door-bell.  Happily  little  Coleridge-Taylor 
came  to  the  door;  he  at  once  recognized  his  new 
friend  and  invited  him  in.  His  mother,  hearing  a 
strange  voice,  came  into  the  room,  too. 

Coleridge-Taylor  said,  "This  is  the  gentleman 
who  played  my  violin,  mother". 

The  orchestra  conductor  bowed  to  her,  intro 
duced  himself  and  offered  an  apology  for  enter 
ing  her  home.  Little  Coleridge-Taylor  joined 
with  his  mother  in  assuring  the  gentleman  that 
that  was  all  right.  The  orchestra  conductor 
thanked  them  both,  and  began  to  tell  of  the  musi 
cal  gifts  of  the  child  and  how  he  should  be  edu 
cated. 

For  a  long  time  the  mother  sat  quietly  listen 
ing.  Finally  she  said,  calling  the  orchestra  con 
ductor  by  his  name,  "Mr.  Beckwith,  you  do  not 
understand.  My  boy's  father,  Dr.  Daniel  Hughes 
Taylor,  left  us  alone  when  the  boy  was  one  year 
old,  and  my  present  husband  is  just  a  working 
man".  All  was  quiet  for  a  few  minutes. 


130  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Presently  Mr.  Beckwith  said  sympathetically, 
"Please  tell  me  where  the  boy's  father  is". 

The  sturdy  young  English  mother,  bracing  her 
self  up  in  her  chair,  said  falteringly,  "My  boy's 
father  came  from  his  native  country,  Sierra  Leone, 
Africa,  to  London.  He  entered  University  College 
and  was  graduated  as  a  medical  student.  His  col 
lege  career  was  so  brilliant  that  he  became  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons.  He  was 
also  connected  with  the  Royal  College  of  Physi 
cians.  As  an  assistant  to  another  physician,  he 
practiced  for  a  while  in  London  and  did  well. 

"Unfortunately  for  him,  his  partner  moved 
away  and  the  patients  refused  to  continue  with 
my  husband  because  he  was  an  African.  He  be 
came  discouraged  and  returned  to  his  native  coun 
try.  My  boy  and  I  lived  for  five  years  with  some 
of  my  friends  in  their  three-room  apartment.  It 
was  my  friend's  husband  who  gave  Samuel  the 
little  violin  a  few  months  ago  on  his  fifth 
birthday." 

Mr.  Beckwith  sat  quietly  listening  to  every 
word.  Once  or  twice  he  took  out  his  handkerchief 
and  wiped  his  eyes.  When  the  young  mother  had 
finished  her  touching  story,  he  assured  her  of  his 
deep  interest  and  arose  to  go.  However,  before 
leaving,  he  asked  if  she  would  let  the  boy  come 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [131 

to  him  for  a  violin  lesson  the  next  day.  She  con 
sented  and  Mr.  Beckwith,  without  further  word, 
bade  her  and  little  Samuel  good-night. 

The  next  day  at  the  appointed  hour,  little  Sam 
uel  and  his  mother  found  Mr.  Beckwith's  studio. 
Seeing  the  sign  on  the  door  "Walk  In"  they 
walked  in  and  took  their  seats.  The  entire  sur 
roundings — the  beautiful  room,  the  piano,  the 
violins,  the  cabinet  with  its  many  pieces  of  music, 
held  their  attention. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  Mr.  Beckwith  entered  and 
bowed  to  them.  He  immediately  called  Coleridge- 
Taylor  forth  and  began  to  give  him  a  lesson.  The 
little  fellow  took  hold  of  his  violin,  at  first  a  bit 
timidly,  but  with  encouragement  and  assurance 
from  his  teacher  he  gradually  played  as  though 
he  had  forgotten  everything  but  the  music  before 
him.  When  his  lesson  was  over  he  left  the  studio 
with  beaming  face  but  returned  again  and  again 
for  his  lessons. 

When  the  child  was  six,  Mr.  Beckwith  arranged 
for  him  to  appear  in  a  recital  given  by  his  students. 
Standing  on  a  couple  of  boxes  which  raised  him 
above  the  ferns  on  the  platform,  little  Samuel 
drew  forth  much  applause  from  the  audience  by 
his  performance. 

He  continued  to  study  and  take  lessons  of 


132  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Beckwith.  Finally,  Mr.  Beckwith  succeeded  in 
getting  him  into  the  Old  British  School,  which 
was  partly  kept  up  by  subscriptions  from  friends. 
The  headmaster  of  the  school,  as  the  principal 
was  called,  welcomed  the  boy  and  soon  began  to 
pay  attention  to  him  and  talk  about  his  unusual 
ability.  His  schoolmates  soon  began  to  call  him 
"Coaly".  Sometimes  a  boy  sitting  behind  "Coaly" 
would  run  his  fingers  through  "Coaly's"  silken 
mop  of  thick,  black  hair.  Such  attentions  always 
made  "Coaly"  smile. 

The  headmaster  and  other  masters,  as  the 
teachers  were  called,  encouraged  him  to  work  hard 
on  his  music.  His  classmaster,  fond  of  singing 
himself,  created  enthusiasm  for  the  weekly  sing 
ing  lessons,  during  which  Coleridge-Taylor  stood 
on  a  table  in  front  of  the  class  and  led  with  his 
violin. 

At  the  request  of  this  teacher,  Coleridge-Tay 
lor  sat  up  one  night,  when  he  was  only  nine  years 
old,  and  wrote  an  original  tune  for  the  hymn, 
"God  Save  the  Queen".  The  next  day,  standing 
on  a  table  in  front  of  his  class,  he  played  the  tune 
and  sang  it  with  his  sweet  treble  voice  until  his 
classmates  learned  to  sing  it  too.  He  often  sang 
for  visitors  without  seeming  to  think  that  he  had 
done  any  more  than  the  other  boys. 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [  133 

The  time  of  the  year  soon  came  around  when 
the  headmaster  began  to  make  his  annual  visit  to 
friends  for  funds  for  the  school.  As  usual,  he 
called  upon  the  choirmaster  of  St.  George's  Pres 
byterian  Church,  who  was  always  on  the  lookout 
for  boys  with  good  voices.  After  greeting  him 
heartily  and  chatting  with  him  a  while,  the  choir 
master  asked  if  there  were  any  good  voices  in  the 
school. 

The  headmaster  hesitated  a  moment  and  then 
said,  "I  have  a  little  boy  in  my  classes  who  takes 
to  music  as  a  fish  takes  to  water,  but  he  is  a 
colored  boy". 

The  choirmaster  replied,  saying,  "Well,  I  am 
much  more  concerned  about  his  voice  than  about 
his  color;  send  him  over  to  see  me". 

The  next  day  Coleridge-Taylor  went  to  see  the 
choirmaster.  He  seemed  to  hesitate  and  to  shrink 
away  when  the  choirmaster  called  him  up  to  sing. 
However,  as  soon  as  he  sang,  flie  choirmaster  en 
tered  his  name  for  the  next  vacancy  in  the  choir. 

Just  after  Coleridge- Taylor  left  the  choir 
master's  home,  the  thought  of  offering  prizes  to 
the  Old  British  School  for  a  singing  contest  sud 
denly  dawned  upon  the  choirmaster.  He  thought 
the  matter  over  carefully  and  laid  it  before  the 
headmaster  of  the  school,  who  in  turn  presented 


134  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

it  to  the  school.  Twenty  boys,  among  whom  was 
Coleridge-Taylor,  at  once  offered  to  enter  the 
contest.  A  song  called  "Cherry  Ripe"  was  se 
lected.  For  several  weeks  "Cherry  Ripe"  was 
practiced  and  talked  about  as  the  only  school  topic. 

The  afternoon  set  for  the  contest  finally  came. 
All  the  boys  assembled  in  the  chapel,  with  the 
twenty  boys  in  the  contest  occupying  the  front 
seats.  While  every  one  sat  anxiously  waiting  for 
the  singing  to  begin,  the  headmaster  rose,  stated 
the  meaning  of  the  occasion  and  called  forth  the 
first  singer.  A  lad  with  confident  air  arose,  walked 
to  the  platform  and  sang  as  though  he  thought  he 
were  a  nightingale.  Then  another  and  another 
came  forward  until  all  had  sung  except  one  little 
bushy -headed,  brown-skinned  boy.  All  eyes  were 
now  fixed  upon  him  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  plat 
form  with  his  usual  shyness.  He  found  his  place 
and  began  to  pour  forth  such  sweet,  true,  mellow 
tones  that  all  began  to  whisper  softly,  "Coaly 
has  it.  Coaly  has  it".  The  song  was  finished  in 
the  midst  of  uproarious  applause.  The  judges 
went  out  quietly  and  soon  returned  with  the  ver 
dict  unanimously  in  favor  of  "Coaly". 

Very  soon  after  Coleridge-Taylor  had  won  the 
prize  this  choirmaster,  Colonel  Herbert  A.  Wal 
ters  by  name,  took  him  under  his  care  and  looked 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [  135 

after  him  until  he  became  a  man.  Finding  him 
quick,  eager  and  with  a  wonderful  ear  for  music, 
Colonel  Walters,  in  addition  to  teaching  him  some 
simple  theory  of  music,  gave  him  voice  production 
and  solo  singing.  He  soon  placed  him  in  St. 
George's  choir  as  solo  boy.  Coleridge-Taylor  ap 
peared  in  many  of  St.  George's  concerts  and  later 
in  those  of  another  church  as  a  singer  and  as  a 
violinist. 

During  all  these  years,  he  had  continued  his 
violin  lessons  with  Mr.  Beckwith.  When  he  was 
only  twelve  years  old  he  was  frequently  sought 
out  by  music  lovers  and  musicians  to  play  for  them 
on  many  important  occasions.  Now  that  he  was 
solo  boy  in  the  choir  it  seemed  that  he  had  found 
a  position  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  but  all  of 
a  sudden,  however,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  his  treble 
voice  broke,  making  it  impossible  for  him  to  con 
tinue  as  a  solo  boy. 

He  remained  as  a  member  of  the  choir  for  ten 
years  longer.  Since  he  could  not  continue  as 
vocal  soloist,  Colonel  Walters  set  out  to  secure 
for  him  a  start  in  the  larger  musical  world.  A 
London  firm  of  piano  makers,  wishing  to  help 
Colonel  Walters  and  the  boy,  offered  to  appren 
tice  him  to  the  piano-tuning  trade.  Colonel  Wal 
ters  thanked  them  very  graciously  but  went  away 


136  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

saying  that  piano-tuning  for  such  a  musical  genius 
would  be  even  worse  than  using  a  fine  razor  to 
chop  firewood. 

The  colonel,  although  he  was  not  a  wealthy 
man,  finally  offered  Coleridge-Taylor  a  higher 
musical  education.  Both  Coleridge-Taylor  and 
his  mother  thanked  him  enthusiastically.  The 
colonel,  after  visiting  and  comparing  all  the  musi 
cal  colleges  in  London,  chose  for  his  brown  boy 
student  the  Royal  College  of  Music.  Coleridge- 
Taylor  was  enrolled  as  a  student  in  that  college 
and  began  his  study  at  the  Christmas  term  of 
1890.  He  was  seemingly  even  more  shy  than 
usual;  however,  he  began  to  study  the  violin,  the 
piano  and  harmony.  Before  a  great  while,  each  of 
his  teachers  in  these  subjects  began  to  speak  with 
enthusiasm  about  his  success.  Coleridge-Taylor, 
however,  was  really  more  interested  in  writing 
music  than  in  anything  else. 

During  his  first  year  in  the  college,  he  wrote 
some  anthems  which  so  attracted  the  attention  of 
Colonel  Walters  that  he  brought  them  to  the  no 
tice  of  the  professors.  While  Coleridge-Taylor 
was  under  the  instruction  of  one  of  the  greatest 
of  the  college  professors  in  his  second  year,  he 
wrote  four  other  anthems.  These  anthems  so  in 
terested  all  of  the  professors  of  the  college  that 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [  137 

they  began  to  speak  freely  of  him  as  a  genius 
and  a  composer. 

For  a  long  time,  it  had  been  the  custom  of  the 
Royal  College  to  offer  nine  scholarships  to  stu 
dents  winning  in  a  certain  musical  contest.  Cole 
ridge-Taylor  entered  this  contest  during  his 
third  year  in  the  college  and  won  the  scholarship 
for  the  best  piece  of  music  written.  He  composed 
so  many  pieces  each  year  that  when  he  was  twenty 
years  old  the  Royal  College  permitted  him  to  give 
a  concert  at  which  he  used  practically  his  compo 
sitions  only. 

Two  years  later,  he  appeared  on  the  program 
of  a  students'  concert  as  a  composer.  At  the  con 
clusion  of  his  number,  he  ran  upstairs  and  hid  in 
the  organ  room.  The  applause,  however,  was  so 
great  that  his  professor,  who  had  also  been  in 
tensely  interested,  found  him  and  almost  had  to 
drag  him  down. 

From  this  time  apparently  the  eyes  of  musical 
critics  were  focused  on  the  young  musician.  Some 
times  he  would  leave  public  gatherings  and  seek 
his  mother's  kitchen.  There  he  would  sit  and  sing 
over  to  her  this  or  that  tune  which  he  had 
composed. 

During  his  fourth  year  in  college,  he  won  an 
other  prize  for  musical  composition.  Following 


138  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

this,  there  were  few  college  concert  programs  in 
London  which  did  not  contain  a  musical  number 
bearing  Coleridge-Taylor's  name.  He  took  up 
the  study  of  the  pipe-organ  and  continued  it  for 
two  terms  but  dropped  it,  saying,  "The  organ  is 
far  too  mechanical  and  soulless  for  me". 

II 

Shortly  after  Coleridge-Taylor  had  completed 
his  six  years  in  the  Royal  College,  he  sat  one  after 
noon  in  his  humble  home  on  a  dingy  street  in 
London,  composing  a  difficult  piece  of  music. 
Near  his  doorway,  an  organ-grinder  began  to  fill 
the  air  with  his  mechanical  tunes.  Coleridge- 
Taylor,  greatly  disturbed,  threw  down  his  pen, 
rushed  out  and  bade  the  organ-grinder  go  away. 
A  neighbor  also  hurried  out,  asking  as  she  shook 
her  fist  at  Coleridge-Taylor  and  ran  towards  the 
organ-grinder,  "Why  are  you  sending  this  man 
away?" 

Coleridge-Taylor  replied,  "I  am  a  composer 
of  music,  and  I  am  engaged  on  a  long  com 
position.  The  grinding  noise  of  that  organ  is 
serious  for  me". 

"Well",  said  she,  "my  children  like  the  organ 
as  much  as  you  dislike  it.  We  have  as  much 
right  to  have  it  as  you  have  to  send  the  man 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [  139 

away.  As  for  your  piano,  it  is  a  good  thing 
that  it  is  interrupted,  for  there  is  too  much  of  it 
for  us".  At  that  juncture  a  policeman  came  upon 
the  scene,  and  the  organ-grinder  moved  on. 

Coleridge-Taylor  began  to  inquire  about  his 
neighbor's  children.  He  was  told  that  she  had 
tipped  the  organ-grinder  to  come  and  play  out 
side  of  her  house  for  the  amusement  of  a  sick 
child.  When  the  organ-grinder  came  the  next 
day,  Coleridge-Taylor  went  out  and  talked  with 
him  about  the  time  of  his  appearance  there  each 
day  so  that  he  might  plan  to  avoid  composing 
music  at  that  time.  Although  his  evening  practice 
had  seemingly  become  a  real  part  of  his  life,  for  a 
long  time  he  refrained  from  touching  his  piano 
during  the  night  hours  because  of  the  sick  child. 

Disturbed  by  all  sorts  of  noises  in  that  street, 
he  and  his  mother's  family  moved  to  more  quiet 
quarters.  These  new  surroundings  seemed  to  in 
spire  him  so  that  he  was  able  to  give  evening  violin 
lessons  at  the  conservatory  of  music,  conduct  a 
small  orchestral  class  and  compose  the  music  for 
"Hiawatha's  Wedding  Feast"  during  the  same 
year. 

Early  in  the  next  year,  Coleridge-Taylor  re 
ceived  from  the  oldest  of  the  great  English  musi 
cal  societies  a  commission,  or  a  special  invitation, 


140  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

to  write  a  selection  for  its  Annual  Festival. 
Overjoyed  because  of  this  invitation,  he  set  to 
work  at  once  and  composed  a  piece  called  "Bal 
lade  in  A  Minor".  Soon  he  began  his  rehearsals 
with  the  orchestra  and  chorus  which  were  to 
render  it.  He  conducted  these  rehearsals  until 
the  very  night  of  the  concert,  September  12, 1898. 

That  night  people  from  all  parts  of  London 
poured  into  the  hall  until  it  was  crowded.  The 
hour  for  the  concert  was  at  hand.  The  orchestra 
and  the  chorus  were  in  their  places.  The  orches 
tra  conductor,  Samuel  Coleridge-Taylor,  a  light 
brown-skinned,  quick-moving,  polished  young 
man,  with  bright  eyes  and  a  large  head  covered 
with  rather  long,  thick,  silken  hair,  entered.  The 
audience,  not  knowing  what  he  looked  like,  paused 
for  a  moment,  then  broke  into  a  storm  of  applause. 

He  bowed,  took  up  his  baton  and  gave  the 
signal.  The  orchestra  and  then  the  chorus  began. 
The  first  strains  of  the  music  seemed  to  charm  the 
people.  Each  part  followed  with  increasing  in 
terest.  At  the  close  of  the  performance,  the  audi 
ence  again  broke  forth  with  thunderous  applause. 
Three  times  Coleridge-Taylor  was  compelled  to 
come  forward  to  acknowledge  the  appreciation  of 
the  audience.  Many  people  crowded  around  him 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [ 

and  congratulated  him  and  invited  him  out  to 
social  affairs.  The  next  day  the  London  papers 
were  all  praising  Coleridge-Taylor  both  as  a  com 
poser  and  as  an  orchestra  conductor. 

As  soon  as  this  event  was  over,  he  again  turned 
his  attention  to  Longfellow's  "Hiawatha".  He 
says  that  he  committed  the  whole  poem  to  mem 
ory  and  lived  with  the  words  until  they  became  a 
part  of  him.  Just  two  months  after  he  conducted 
the  "Ballade  in  A  Minor",  "Hiawatha's  Wedding 
Feast",  his  next  composition,  was  sung  by  the 
choir  and  orchestra  of  his  own  college — The  Royal 
College  of  Music. 

On  the  evening  of  this  concert,  Royal  College 
Hall  buzzed  with  a  crowded,  expectant  audience. 
Every  seat  was  occupied.  People  were  sitting  on 
the  steps  of  the  platform  and  standing  in  the 
aisles.  When  everything  was  in  readiness  for  the 
concert  to  begin,  Sir  Charles  Stanford,  a  Profes 
sor  in  the  Royal  College  of  Music,  took  up  the 
baton.  The  trumpets  gave  out  the  simple,  charm 
ing  opening  subject  of  the  "Wedding  Feast". 
The  audience  sat  as  if  in  a  trance.  Interest  grew 
and  grew  as  the  words  of  Chibiabos,  the  friend  of 
Hiawatha  and  the  sweetest  of  all  singers,  were 
sung: 


142  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Onaway!   Awake,  beloved! 

Thou  the  wild-flower  of  the  forest! 

Thou  the  wild-bird  of  the  prairie! 

Thou  with  eyes  so  soft  and  fawn-like! 

If  thou  only  lookest  at  me, 

I  am  happy,  I  am  happy 

As  the  lilies  of  the  prairie, 

When  they  feel  the  dew  upon  them! 

When  the  last  strains  of  the  orchestra  died 
away,  the  applause  of  the  audience  was  loud  and 
long.  Coleridge-Taylor  was  called  forth  in  the 
midst  of  the  demonstration.  He  soon  disappeared, 
only  to  be  called  back  again  and  again.  As  the 
people  departed  from  the  concert,  they  saw  Cole 
ridge-Taylor,  greatly  embarrassed  because  of 
his  great  success,  dodging  into  doorways  to  get 
out  of  their  sight.  The  next  morning,  he  seemed 
to  be  even  more  embarrassed  as  he  glanced  at  the 
newspapers  and  saw  in  large  headlines  his  name 
mentioned  as  a  great  musician. 

Ill 

One  evening,  long  before  this  concert,  every 
light  in  the  home  of  the  Walmisleys,  a  well-to-do 
English  family,  burned  with  unusual  brightness. 
Vases  and  bowls  of  beautiful  flowers  scented  the 
atmosphere.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walmisley,  assisted 
by  their  attractive  and  accomplished  daughter 
Jessie,  stood  in  their  large  parlors  receiving  their 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [143 

guests,  among  whom  was  Coleridge-Taylor.  In 
the  midst  of  the  festivities,  it  was  announced  that 
Coleridge-Taylor  would  play  a  violin  selection. 
He  came  forth  and  began  to  play  to  the  piano 
accompaniment  of  Miss  Jessie  Walmisley,  who 
was  also  a  student  at  the  Royal  College  of  Music. 
The  hush  of  silence  which  always  possessed  audi 
ences  when  Coleridge-Taylor  played  his  violin, 
at  once  stole  over  this  happy  group  of  cultured 
people.  When  he  had  finished,  his  hearers  called 
him  back  several  times.  As  the  guests  departed 
from  the  Walmisley  home  that  evening,  they  were 
all  talking  about  their  charming  hostess  and  the 
genius  of  the  young  violinist. 

Some  months  later,  Miss  Walmisley's  profes 
sors  required  her  to  practice  some  violin  and  piano 
duets  as  vacation  exercises.  In  her  search  for  some 
one  with  whom  to  practice,  she  thought  of  the 
talented  young  Negro  whom  she  had  accom 
panied  at  her  mother's  party.  She  wrote  to  the 
College  for  his  address  but  through  mistake,  the 
address  of  another  player  by  the  name  of  Cole 
ridge  was  sent  to  her.  She  went  in  search  of  him. 
Although  disappointed  at  meeting  the  wrong  per 
son,  she  continued  her  inquiry  and  search  until 
she  found  the  home  of  Coleridge-Taylor. 

His  mother  came  to  the  door.    Upon  Miss 


144  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Walmisley's  request  to  see  him  about  practicing 
with  her,  his  mother  said,  "I  will  ask  him  if  he 
can  see  you". 

Two  minutes  later  Coleridge-Taylor  himself 
came  to  the  door  smiling  and  shaking  his  head, 
saying,  "Can't  do  it  now,  can't  possibly  do  it  now. 
I  am  writing  a  quartet". 

She  replied  as  she  started  off,  "I  am  sorry  to 
have  troubled  you". 

He  stood  looking  at  her  and  rather  suddenly 
said,  "Wait  a  moment". 

"I  could  not  think  of  bothering  you  now",  she 
replied. 

Coleridge-Taylor  ran  out  and  insisted  that  she 
come  in.  While  she  waited,  he  hurried  back  to  his 
room  and  wrote  down  some  notes.  Soon  he  came 
forward  again  with  a  smile,  saying,  "I  can  give 
you  an  hour". 

They  practiced  just  one  hour.  After  thanking 
him  many  times,  Miss  Walmisley  started  to  go, 
but  suddenly  hesitated  to  ask  if  he  could  possibly 
help  her  again.  He  consented,  and  at  the  close 
of  each  practice  he  kept  on  promising  a  little  more 
time.  Perhaps  before  they  fully  realized  it,  two 
years  had  passed  and  they  had  become  fast  musi 
cal  friends.  She  joined  his  orchestral  class  and 
assisted  him  greatly. 


SAMUEL,  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [145 

Their  friendship,  both  realized,  had  steadily 
ripened.  Miss  Walmisley  seemed  puzzled  to 
know  whether  she  should  permit  herself  to  love 
Coleridge-Taylor.  She  ceased  for  a  time  to  meet 
him  or  to  have  anything  at  all  to  do  with  his  class. 
During  this  period  of  freedom  from  his  company, 
she  realized  that  she  really  loved  him,  and  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  stand  by  him.  They  soon 
became  engaged. 

After  this,  whenever  it  was  convenient  and  fit 
ting,  Miss  Walmisley  would  read  through  proofs 
of  his  compositions  and  sing  his  new  songs  for 
him.  One  day  while  they  were  attending  a  con 
cert  in  a  town  near  London,  the  usher  announced 
to  their  surprise  and  embarrassment,  their  en 
gagement. 

During  these  days,  Coleridge-Taylor  was  com 
posing  almost  without  stopping  except  for  his 
meals  and  a  long  walk  with  Miss  Walmisley  each 
day.  With  invitations  to  write  for  great  occasions 
pouring  in  upon  him,  he  composed  "The  Death  of 
Minnehaha",  "The  Song  of  Hiawatha"  and  other 
numbers.  The  theme  of  "The  Song  of  Hiawatha" 
Coleridge-Taylor  says  he  took  from  a  plantation 
melody,  "Nobody  Knows  the  Trouble  I've  Seen", 
which  he  had  recently  heard  sung  by  the  famous 
Fisk  Jubilee  Singers.  It  was  through  these  sing- 


146  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

ers,  says  he,  that  he  first  learned  to  appreciate  the 
beautiful  Negro  folk  songs. 

Now  that  Coleridge-Taylor,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-four,  felt  sure  of  his  ability  to  support  a 
family,  he  and  Miss  Walmisley  planned  a  quiet 
wedding  in  a  little  church  in  Croydon.  In  their 
attempt  to  keep  the  matter  a  secret,  they  ordered 
an  old  rickety,  weather-beaten  carriage  to  wait 
outside  of  the  church  to  take  them  away  after  the 
wedding.  To  their  surprise,  the  news  of  the  wed 
ding  had  leaked  out  and  when  they  entered  the 
church,  there  sat  a  church  full  of  friends  waiting 
for  the  ceremony.  Immediately  ]  folio  wing  the 
ceremony  Coleridge-Taylor  and  his  bride  left 
the  town  for  two  weeks. 

During  that  time  Coleridge-Taylor  continued 
his  work  on  "Hiawatha's  Departure",  which  was 
afterwards  given  by  a  famous  choir  and  orchestra 
of  a  thousand  members,  with  the  composer  as  the 
conductor. 

Coleridge-Taylor  soon  became  a  professor  in 
the  University  of  London.  He  was  spoken  of  as 
one  of  the  three  greatest  British  orchestra  con 
ductors  of  his  time.  During  the  thirteen  years  of 
his  happy  married  life,  he  was  busy  composing 
music,  teaching  and  conducting  orchestras.  It 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [  147 

was  during  these  years  that  his  two  children — 
Gwendolen  and  Hiawatha — were  born. 

He  traveled  England  from  end  to  end  and  vis 
ited  America  four  times.  On  his  third  visit  to 
America,  he  wrote  the  first  sketches  of  "A  Tale  of 
Old  Japan",  which  came  next  in  popularity  to 
"Hiawatha". 

The  greater  part  of  1912  was  gloomy,  and  the 
sun  failed  to  shine  in  England.  Coleridge-Taylor 
seemed  sad  because  of  this,  but  he  worked  hard 
and  so  completely  finished  up  all  of  his  composi 
tions  that  he  said  to  his  wife,  "I  have  never  felt 
so  free  of  work  in  my  life".  He  planned  to  go 
to  the  seashore  but  his  son  Hiawatha  contracted 
influenza  in  a  severe  storm,  and  so  he  remained 
at  home  and  amused  himself  by  taking  long  walks. 

One  morning  he  said,  "I  have  had  a  lovely 
dream". 

"What,  another  lovely  dream?  What  is  it  this 
time?"  said  Mrs.  Coleridge-Taylor. 

He  answered,  "Oh5  I  dreamt  I  saw  Hurlstone 
in  Heaven.  [Hurlstone  was  a  friend  who  had  re 
cently  died.]  I  was  just  entering.  We  didn't 
speak  but  we  embraced  each  other.  That  means  I 
am  going  to  die".  Mrs.  Coleridge-Taylor,  insist 
ing  that  it  was  only  a  dream,  tried  in  vain  to 
cheer  him. 


148  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

One  August  morning  of  this  gloomy  year, 
Gwendolen  and  he  went  out  and  bought  some 
yellow  chrysanthemums  for  Mrs.  Coleridge-Tay 
lor.  On  their  return  Coleridge-Taylor  gave  them 
to  his  wife  and  bade  her  good-bye.  He  left  to  go 
to  a  moving-picture  show  but  became  suddenly 
ill,  and  fell  at  the  station  where  he  bought  his 
ticket.  With  difficulty  he  reached  home.  For 
several  days,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  dangerously  ill, 
but  acute  pneumonia  soon  developed.  He  became 
steadily  worse.  On  Sunday  of  that  week,  Sep 
tember  1st,  he  was  propped  up  in  bed  with  a 
pillow.  He  seemed  to  imagine  an  orchestra  before 
him  and  an  audience  behind  him.  He  conducted  a 
performance,  beat  time  with  both  arms  and  smiled 
his  approval  here  and  there.  That  smile  never 
left  his  face.  Still  smiling  and  conducting,  he  sank 
back  on  his  pillow  and  passed  away. 

The  funeral  services  were  held  at  St.  Michael's 
Church,  Croydon,  England,  September  5,  1912. 
People  came  from  all  parts  of  England.  Many 
were  in  the  church  long  before  the  services  began. 
Mr.  H.  L.  Balfour,  organist  of  the  Royal  Choral 
Society,  played  during  this  period  of  waiting,  se 
lections  from  Coleridge-Taylor's  works.  Among 
them  was  a  selection  from  "Hiawatha's  Wedding 
Feast" — "Chibiabos,  the  sweetest  of  all  singers, 


SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR  [  149 

the  best  of  all  musicians".  The  beautiful  slow 
movement  from  Coleridge-Taylor's  violin  Con 
certo  in  G  Minor,  which  was  not  then  published, 
was  played  also.  The  services  closed  with  his 
funeral  march  from  "The  Death  of  Minnehaha". 
The  inscription  on  the  headstone  which  marks 
his  grave  reads  as  follows : 


IK  MEMORY  OF 
SAMUEL  COLERIDGE-TAYLOR 

who  died  on 

September  1, 1912 

at  the  age  of  37 

Bequeathing  to  the  World 

A  Heritage  of  an  undying  Beauty. 

His  Music  Lives. 
It  was  his  own,  and  drawn  from  vital  fountains. 

It  pulsed  with  his  own  life, 

But  now  it  is  his  immortality. 

He  lives  while  music  lives. 

Too  young  to  die — 
His  great  simplicity,  his  happy  courage 

In  an  alien  world, 
His  gentleness  made  all  that  knew  him  love  him. 

Sleep,  crowned  with  fame,  fearless  of  change  or  time; 

Sleep,  like  remembered  music  in  the  soul, 
Silent,  immortal;  while  our  discords  climb 

To  that   great  chord  which  shall   resolve  the  whole. 

Silent,  with  Mozart,  on  that  solemn   shore; 

Secure,   where   neither   waves    nor   hearts    can   break; 
Sleep,  till  the  master  of  the  world  once  more 

Touch   the    remembered    strings    and    bid    thee    wake. 


BENJAMIN  BANNEKER 


Chapter  VIII 

BENJAMIN  BANNEKER 

ASTRONOMER  AND  SURVEYOR 
1732-1804 

I 

CHILDHOOD 

ONE  winter  evening  long  ago,  everything  in 
Baltimore  County,  Maryland,  was  covered 
with  deep  snow.  Icicles  nearly  a  foot  long  hung 
from  the  roofs  of  the  rough  log  cabins.  The  trees 
of  the  thick  forest  which  extended  for  miles 
around  stood  like  silent  ghosts  in  the  stillness,  for 
no  one  in  all  that  wooded  country  stirred  out  on 
such  an  evening. 

Far  away  from  the  other  cabins  stood  the  Ban- 
neker  cabin.  Little  Benjamin  Banneker  was  busy 
before  a  glowing  wood  fire  roasting  big,  fat  chest 
nuts  in  the  hot  embers.  His  grandmother  sat  in 
the  corner  in  a  quaint  split-bottom,  white-oak 
chair,  knitting  and  telling  him  about  her  native 
country,  England. 

[153] 


154  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

She  said,  "When  I  was  in  England,  milking 
the  cows  on  a  cattle  farm  was  a  part  of  my  daily 
duties.  One  day  I  was  accused  of  stealing  a  pail 
of  milk  which  had  in  fact  been  kicked  over  by  the 
cow.  Instead  of  meting  out  a  more  severe  punish 
ment,  the  officers  of  the  law  sentenced  me  to  be 
shipped  to  America.  Being  unable  to  pay  for  my 
passage,  I  was  sold,  upon  my  arrival  in  America, 
to  a  tobacco  planter  on  the  Patapsco  River  to 
serve  a  period  of  seven  years  to  pay  the  cost  of  my 
passage". 

Silence  reigned  for  a  few  moments,  then  she 
continued,  "I  worked  out  my  period  of  service, 
then  bought  a  part  of  the  farm  on  which  I  had 
worked.  I  also  bought  two  African  slaves  from 
a  ship  in  the  Chesapeake  Bay.  One  of  the  slaves, 
your  grandfather,  the  son  of  an  African  king, 
had  been  stolen  from  the  coast  of  Africa". 

Little  Benjamin  then  asked,  pointing  to  his 
grandfather,  who  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of 
the  hearth,  "Was  grandfather  that  man,  grand 
mother?" 

"Yes",  she  said.  She  continued  her  story,  end 
ing  with  a  beautiful  description  of  the  River 
Thames,  the  Tower  of  London,  and  Westminster 
Abbey. 


BENJAMIN  BANNEKER  [  155 

All  was  still  for  a  while,  except  for  the  occa 
sional  moving  of  Benjamin  and  the  bursting  of 
chestnuts.  Benjamin's  grandfather,  who  was  sit 
ting  with  his  eyes  closed,  now  broke  the  silence. 
Said  he,  "Benjamin,  what  are  you  going  to  be 
when  you  are  a  man,  a  chestnut  roaster?" 

"I  am  going  to  be — I  am  going  to  be — what  is 
it,  grandmother?  You  know  you  told  me  a  story 
about  the  man  who  knew  all  the  stars",  said  Ben 
jamin. 

"An  astronomer",  replied  his  grandmother. 

"That's  it,  I  am  going  to  be  an  astronomer", 
answered  Benjamin. 

"You  have  changed  in  the  last  day  or  two, 
then",  said  his  grandfather.  "The  day  your  grand 
mother  told  you  about  the  man  who  could  figure 
so  well  with  his  head,  you  said  you  would  be  that". 

"That  man  was  a  born  mathematician",  sug 
gested  his  grandmother. 

Benjamin  began  to  blink  his  eyelids  rapidly 
and  to  twist  and  turn  for  an  answer.  Soon  his 
mouth  flew  open  saying,  "Well,  I'll  be  both,  I'll 
be  both!" 

His  grandmother  interrupted  by  saying,  "I 
wonder  what  has  become  of  my  little  inventor? 
Benjamin,  you  remember  what  you  said  when  I 
told  you  the  story  about  that  inventor". 


156  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Benjamin  gave  that  look  which  always  said, 
"Well,  I  am  caught";  but  soon  he  recovered  and 
with  this  reply,  "I  can  tell  you  what  I  am  going  to 
do,  I  am  going  to  school  first  to  learn  to  figure. 
And  then  while  I  am  farming  a  little  for  my  living 
I  can  stay  up  at  night  and  watch  the  stars.  And  in 
the  afternoon  I  can  study  and  invent  things  until 
I  am  tired,  and  then  I  can  go  out  and  watch 
my  bees". 

"When  are  you  going  to  sleep,  my  boy?"  asked 
his  grandmother. 

"In  the  morning",  said  he. 

"And  you  are  going  to  have  a  farm  and  bees, 
too?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  grandmother",  said  Benjamin,  "we 
might  just  as  well  have  something  while  we  are 
here.  Father  says  that  he  will  never  take  mother 
and  me  to  his  native  country — Africa — to  live. 
Grandmother,  did  you  and  grandfather  have  any 
children  besides  mother?" 

"Yes,  there  were  three  other  children",  replied 
his  grandmother. 

"When  father  and  mother  were  married",  said 
Benjamin,  "mother  didn't  change  her  name  at  all 
from  Mary  Banneker  as  the  ladies  do  now,  but 
father  changed  his  name  to  Robert  Banneker. 


BENJAMIN  BANNEKER  [  157 

I  am  glad  of  it,  for  you  see  you  are  Banneker, 
grandfather  is  Banneker,  I  am  Banneker  and  all 
of  lis  are  Bannekers  now". 

"My  boy",  interrupted  his  grandfather,  "I  am 
waiting  to  hear  how  you  are  going  to  buy  a  farm." 

"Oh,  grandfather",  said  Benjamin  as  he  arose, 
"you  remember  that  mother  and  father  gave  Mr. 
Gist  seven  thousand  pounds  of  tobacco  and  Mr. 
Gist  gave  them  one  hundred  acres  of  land  here  in 
Baltimore  County.  Grandfather,  don't  you  think 
father  will  give  me  some  of  this  land?  He  cannot 
use  it  all." 

"Yes,  when  you  are  older,  Benjamin.  But  you 
must  go  to  school  and  learn  to  read  first",  an 
swered  his  grandfather. 

"Yes  but — ouch,  that  coal  is  hot!"  cried  Ben 
jamin  as  he  shook  his  hand,  danced  about  the  floor 
and  buried  his  fingers  in  a  pillow.  That  time  he 
had  picked  up  a  hot  coal  instead  of  a  chestnut. 
Some  time  after  his  fingers  were  "doctored"  and 
he  was  apparently  snug  in  bed  for  the  night,  he 
shook  his  hands  and  cried  out  for  his  grandmother. 

Benjamin  rose  the  next  morning,  and  after 
breakfast,  began  again  to  roast  chestnuts.  Morn 
ing  after  morning  he  roasted  chestnuts  until  the 
snow  had  all  cleared  away.  Then  he  entered  a  pay 


158  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

school  and  soon  learned  to  read,  write  and  do  some 
arithmetic.  After  some  months  had  passed  he 
began  to  borrow  books  and  to  study  by  himself. 

II 

FARMER  AND  MATHEMATICIAN 

When  Benjamin  was  about  twenty-seven,  his 
father  died.  As  he  had  prophesied  when  he  was  a 
boy,  his  father's  farm  bought  with  the  tobacco, 
became  his.  On  this  farm  was  Banneker's  house 
—a  log  cabin  about  half  a  mile  from  the  Patapsco 
River.  In  his  doorway  he  often  stood  looking  at 
the  near  and  distant  beautiful  hills  along  the 
banks  of  this  river.  What  he  said  about  his  bees 
when  he  was  a  boy  came  true  also.  These  he 
kept  in  his  orchard;  and  in  the  midst  of  this  or 
chard  a  spring  which  never  failed,  babbled  beneath 
a  large  golden  willow  tree.  His  beautiful  garden 
and  his  well-kept  grounds  seemed  to  give  him 
pleasure. 

Banneker  never  married,  but  lived  alone  in 
retirement  after  the  death  of  his  mother.  He 
cooked  his  own  food  and  washed  his  own  clothes. 
All  who  knew  him,  and  especially  those  who 
saw  that  he  was  a  genius,  spoke  well  of  him. 
He  always  greeted  his  visitors  cheerfully,  and  he 


BENJAMIN  BANNEKER  [  159 

kept  a  book  in  which  was  written  the  name  of 
every  person  by  whose  visit  he  felt  greatly 
honored. 

Some  one  who  knew  him  well  says  that  he  was 
a  brave-looking,  pleasant  man  with  something 
very  noble  in  his  face.  He  was  large  and  some 
what  stout.  In  his  old  age  he  wore  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat  which  covered  his  thick  suit  of  white 
hair.  He  always  wore  a  superfine,  drab  broad 
cloth  coat  with  a  straight  collar  and  long  waist 
coat.  His  manners,  some  one  says,  were  those  of 
a  perfect  gentleman — kind,  generous,  hospitable, 
dignified,  pleasing,  very  modest  and  unassuming. 

He  worked  on  his  farm  for  his  living,  but 
found  time  to  study  all  the  books  which  he  could 
borrow.  He  studied  the  Bible,  history,  biography, 
travels,  romance,  and  other  books,  but  his  greatest 
interest  was  in  mathematics.  Like  many  other 
scholars  of  his  day,  he  often  amused  himself  during 
his  leisure  by  solving  hard  problems.  Scholars 
from  many  parts  of  the  country  often  sent  him 
difficult  problems.  It  is  said  that  he  solved  every 
one  sent  to  him  and  he  often  sent  in  return  an 
original  question  in  rhyme.  For  example,  he  sent 
the  following  question  to  Mr.  George  Ellicott, 
which  was  solved  by  a  scholar  of  Alexandria: 


160  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

A  Cooper  and  Vintner  sat  down  for  a  talk, 

Both  being  so  groggy,  that  neither  could  walk. 

Says  Cooper  to  Vintner,  "I'm  the  first  of  my  trade; 

There's  no  kind  of  vessel  but  what  I  have  made. 

And  of  any  shape,  Sir — just  what  you  will; 

And  of  any  size,  Sir — from  a  ton  to  a  gill !" 
"Then",  says  the  Vintner,  "you're  the  man  for  me — 

Make  me  a  vessel,  if  we  can  agree. 

The  top  and  the  bottom  diameter  define, 

To  bear  that  proportion  as  fifteen  to  nine ; 

Thirty-five  inches  are  just  what  I  crave, 

No  more  and  no  less,  in  the  depth  will  I  have. 

Just  thirty-nine  gallons  this  vessel  must  hold, 

Then  I  will  reward  you  with  silver  and  gold. 

Give  me  your  promise,  my  honest  old  friend?" 
"I'll  make  it  to-morrow,  that  you  may  depend !" 

So  the  next  day  the  Cooper  his  work  to  discharge, 
Soon  made  the  new  vessel,  but  made  it  too  large ; 
He  took  out  some  staves,  which  made  it  too  small, 
And  then  cursed  the  vessel,  the  Vintner  and  all. 
He  beat  on  his  breast,  "By  the  Powers !"  he  swore 
He  never  would  work  at  his  trade  any  more ! 
Now,  my  worthy  friend,  find  out,  if  you  can, 
The  vessel's  dimensions  and  comfort  the  man. 

Ill 

INVENTOR  AND  ASTRONOMER 

When  Banneker  was  about  thirty-eight  years 
old  he  sat  day  after  day  working  on  a  clock. 
Finally  he  finished  it  with  his  imperfect  tools  and 
with  only  a  borrowed  watch  for  a  model.  He  had 
never  seen  a  clock  for  there  was  not  one,  it  is  said, 
within  fifty  miles  of  him.  An  article  published  in 


BENJAMIN  BANNEKER  [  161 

London,  England,  in  1864,  says  that  Banneker's 
clock  was  probably  the  first  clock  every  part  of 
which  was  made  in  America.  For  many  hours  and 
days  he  turned  and  adjusted  the  hands  of  his  clock 
until  they  moved  smoothly  and  the  clock  struck 
on  the  hour. 

Time  passed,  and  after  some  years  Mr.  George 
Ellicott's  family — Quakers  from  Pennsylvania 
they  were — began  to  build  flour-mills,  a  store  and 
a  post-office  in  a  valley  adjoining  Banneker's 
farm.  Banneker  was  now  fifty-five  years  old,  and 
had  won  the  reputation  of  knowing  more  than  any 
other  person  in  that  county.  Mr.  Ellicott  opened 
his  library  to  him.  He  gave  him  a  book  which  told 
of  the  stars.  He  gave  him  tables  about  the  moon. 
He  urged  him  to  work  out  problems  for  almanacs. 

Early  every  evening  Banneker  wrapped  him 
self  in  a  big  cloak,  stretched  out  upon  the  ground 
and  lay  there  all  night  looking  at  the  stars  and 
planets.  At  sunrise  he  rose  and  went  to  his  house. 
He  slept  and  rested  all  the  morning  and  worked 
in  the  afternoon.  His  neighbors  peeped  through 
the  cracks  of  his  house  one  morning  and  saw  him 
resting.  They  began  at  once  to  call  him  a  lazy 
fellow  who  would  come  to  no  good  end. 

In  spite  of  this,  he  compiled  an  almanac.  His 
first  almanac  was  published  for  the  year  1792. 


162  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

It  so  interested  one  of  the  great  men  of  the  coun 
try  that  he  wrote  to  two  almanac  publishers  of 
Baltimore  about  it.  These  publishers  gladly  pub 
lished  Banneker's  almanac.  They  said  that  it  was 
the  work  of  a  genius,  and  that  it  met  the  hearty 
approval  of  distinguished  astronomers. 

Banneker  wrote  Thomas  Jefferson,  then  Sec 
retary  of  State,  on  behalf  of  his  people,  and  sent 
him  one  of  his  almanacs.  Mr.  Jefferson  replied : 

Philadelphia,  August  30,  1791. 

Sir — I  thank  you  sincerely  for  your  letter  of  the  19th  inst. 

and  for  the  almanac  it  contained.   Nobody  wishes  more  than 

I  do  to  see  such  proofs  as  you  exhibit,  that  nature  has  given 

to  your  race  talents  equal  to  those  of  the  other  races  of  men. 

I  am  with  great  esteem,  Sir, 

Your  most  obedient  servant, 

THOS.  JEFFERSON 

IV 

SURVEYOR 

This  strange  man,  Benjamin  Banneker,  never 
went  away  from  home  any  distance  until  he  was 
fifty-seven  years  old.  Then  he  was  asked  by  the 
commissioners,  appointed  to  run  the  boundary 
lines  of  the  District  of  Columbia,  to  go  with  them. 
He  accompanied  them. 

Later,  The  Evening  Star,  a  Washington 
daily  paper,  said,  "Major  L'Enfant,  the  engi- 


BENJAMIN  BANNEKER  [163 

neer,  bossed  the  job  while  Benjamin  Banneker 
did  the  work". 

1  On  Banneker's  return  home  from  Washington 
he  told  his  friends  that  during  that  trip  he  had 
not  touched  strong  drink,  his  one  temptation. 
"For",  said  he,  "I  feared  to  trust  myself  even  with 
wine,  lest  it  should  steal  away  the  little  sense  I 
had."  In  those  days  wines  and  liquors  were  upon 
the  tables  of  the  best  families. 

Perhaps  no  one  alive  today  knows  the  exact 
day  of  Banneker's  death.  In  the  fall,  probably 
of  1804,  on  a  beautiful  day,  he  walked  out  on 
the  hills  apparently  seeking  the  sunlight  as  a 
tonic.  While  walking,  he  met  a  neighbor  to  whom 
he  told  his  condition.  He  and  his  neighbor  walked 
along  slowly  to  his  house.  He  lay  down  at  once 
upon  his  couch,  became  speechless  and  died. 

During  a  previous  illness  he  had  asked  that  all 
his  papers,  almanacs,  and  the  like,  be  given  at  his 
death  to  Mr.  Ellicott.  Just  two  days  after  his  death 
and  while  he  was  being  buried,  his  house  burned 
to  the  ground.  It  burned  so  rapidly  that  the  clock 
and  all  his  papers  were  destroyed.  A  feather  bed 
on  which  he  had  slept  for  many  years  was  removed 
at  his  death.  The  sister  to  whom  he  gave  it  opened 
it  some  years  later  and  in  it  was  found  a  purse 
of  money. 


164  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Benjamin  Banneker  was  well  known  on  two 
continents.  An  article  written  about  him  in  1864 
by  a  member  of  the  London  Emancipation  So 
ciety  says,  "Though  no  monument  marks  the  spot 
where  he  was  born  and  lived  a  true  and  high  life 
and  was  buried,  yet  history  must  record  that  the 
most  original  scientific  intellect  which  the  South 
has  yet  produced  was  that  of  the  African,  Ben 
jamin  Banneker". 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY 


Chapter  IX 

PHILLIS  WHEATLEY 

FIRST  POETESS  or  HER  RACE  ON  AMERICAN  SOIL 
1753-1784 

IN  1753  a  baby  girl  was  born  on  the  Western 
Coast  of  Africa.  Her  mother  did  not  sit  for 
hours  making  beautiful  little  dresses  and  doing 
embroidery  for  her,  for  that  is  not  the  custom 
in  Africa.  Babies  do  not  need  many  clothes  in 
that  warm  country.  There  little  children,  and 
grown  people  too,  run  around  with  just  a  piece 
of  cloth  tied  about  their  waists. 

The  child  was  not  robust,  but  she  grew  and 
grew  until  she  soon  became  her  mother's  com 
panion.  Her  mother,  believing  that  a  Great  Spirit 
lives  in  the  sun,  went  out  of  her  little  thatched- 
roof  house  every  morning  and  prostrated  herself 
to  pour  out  water  before  the  rising  sun.  The  child 
often  watched  the  water  as  it  streamed  down,  and 
sometimes  she  jumped  and  clapped  her  little 
hands  with  glee. 

One  bright  morning,  after  this  religious  cere 
mony  was  performed  and  breakfast  was  over, 
the  girl  ran  out  to  play  with  the  other  children. 
She  was  shedding  her  front  teeth,  but  she  was  not 

[  167  ] 


168  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

large  for  her  age  and  she  was  none  too  strong. 
While  she  and  her  playmates  were  having  a  happy 
time,  suddenly  one  of  the  older  children  ex 
claimed,  "Hoi!  hoi!"  Every  child  looked  up  and 
took  to  its  heels.  There  were  strange-looking  men 
hurrying  towards  them.  The  children  ran  and 
screamed.  Our  little  girl  stumbled  and  fell,  and 
the  man,  pursuing  her,  grabbed  her.  She  kicked 
and  yelled  but  he  held  her  fast.  Her  best  friend  ran 
behind  a  big  tree,  but  she,  too,  was  caught.  They 
both  kicked  and  yelled,  but  they  were  taken  on 
board  an  American  vessel.  Other  children  who 
were  caught  were  also  brought  to  the  shore  kick 
ing  and  crying. 

When  there  were  almost  enough  of  them  for  a 
boat-load,  the  vessel  sailed  away.  They  were  on 
the  water  for  many  days.  The  voyage  was  long 
and  the  sea  was  rough.  The  waters  lashed  the 
sides  of  the  vessel  as  it  rocked  to  and  fro.  Some 
of  the  children  fell  to  the  floor  with  spells  of  vom 
iting.  Many  a  night  everything  for  a  time  was  in 
complete  darkness  and  everybody  was  afraid.  The 
little  vessel,  however,  tugged  away  for  days  and 
nights  until  it  sighted  lights  flickering  in  the  Bos 
ton  Harbor.  All  the  voyagers,  tired  and  hungry 
and  lonely,  re j  oiced  to  be  nearing  even  an  unknown 
land.  Soon  the  boat  pulled  into  the  harbor,  and 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  [169 

although  no  comforts  had  been  provided  for  them 
for  the  night,  weariness  of  body  so  overcame  lone 
liness  of  heart  that  all  of  them  soon  fell  asleep. 

The  news  had  gone  abroad  in  Boston  that  a 
shipload  of  Africans  was  approaching.  The  next 
morning  many  Bostonians  hurried  to  the  harbor 
to  see  the  Africans.  Among  the  number  of  spec 
tators  there  was  a  Mrs.  John  Wheatley,  the  wife 
of  a  tailor.  She  walked  around  and  looked  many 
of  the  African  girls  over  from  head  to  foot.  Final 
ly  she  handed  the  shipmaster  money  and  took 
our  girl  away  with  her  to  her  home. 

She  and  her  daughter  were  busy  for  a  while 
heating  kettles  of  water,  getting  out  clothing  and 
sewing  on  a  button  here  and  there,  preparatory 
to  giving  her  a  good  hot  bath.  When  the  child 
was  called  in  she  gazed  at  this  strange-looking  ob- 
ject  which  Mrs.  Wheatley  called  a  tub.  She 
looked  at  the  soap  and  felt  it.  She  stretched  her 
eyes  as  she  looked  upon  the  nice  white  clothes  on 
the  chair.  She  seemed  just  a  little  afraid  and  yet 
she  did  as  Mrs.  Wheatley  told  her  and  soon  had 
her  bath. 

After  she  was  dressed,  she  met  another  big  sur 
prise.  She  was  taken  into  a  dining-room,  where 
the  table  was  all  spread  with  white  linen.  There 
were  strange-looking  things  to  eat.  She  began 


170  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

eating,  but  said  that  the  food  did  not  taste  like  the 
food  in  Africa.  She  picked  over  this  and  picked 
over  that,  but  nothing  tasted  just  right.  Never 
theless  she  smiled,  and  it  appeared  that  she  was 
not  very  hungry.  Mrs.  Wheatley  watched  her 
closely  as  she  came  in  touch  with  all  of  these 
strange  new  things  and  assured  her  that  in  a  few 
days  everything  would  not  seem  so  queer.  The 
girl  adopted  the  customs  of  the  family  and  they 
named  her  Phillis  Wheatley. 

Every  day  as  Mrs.  Wheatley's  daughter  sat 
reading  or  writing  letters,  Phillis  stood  looking 
at  her  in  wonder.  Miss  Wheatley  seemed  to  write 
with  so  much  ease  that  one  day  Phillis  went  out 
with  a  piece  of  charcoal  in  her  hand  and  began  to 
try  to  write  on  the  side  of  a  wall.  Miss  Wheatley, 
who  was  seated  at  a  window,  watched  her  for  a 
long  time,  then  called  her  in  and  showed  her  how 
to  make  some  letters.  Phillis  busied  herself  for 
the  remainder  of  the  day  making  letters  and  keep 
ing  Miss  Wheatley  busy  showing  her  how  to  make 
new  ones.  That  night  she  scarcely  wished  to  leave 
her  writing  to  go  to  bed,  but  Miss  Wheatley  per 
suaded  her  by  promising  to  give  her  a  lesson  every 
day.  They  set  the  lesson  hour  and  Phillis  went 
to  bed  smiling  and  shaking  with  joy.  Just  at  the 
right  time  every  day  she  walked  into  Miss  Wheat- 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  [171 

ley's  room  for  her  lesson.  When  her  lessons  were 
over  and  she  was  not  busy  with  her  work,  she  was 
p'oring  over  her  books.  In  less  than  a  year  and 
a  half  she  could  easily  read  the  most  difficult  parts 
of  the  Bible  without  making  a  mistake.  In  four 
years  people  in  different  parts  of  the  country  be 
gan  to  hear  of  her  and  write  to  her  and  even  fur 
nish  her  with  books.  To  the  surprise  of  the  Wheat- 
leys,  she  was  soon  studying  and  reading  the  Latin 
language  without  any  one  to  help  her. 

At  the  age  of  fourteen,  Phillis  began  to  write 
poetry.  Often  when  some  great  person  of  whom 
she  knew  died,  she  would  write  a  poem  to  com 
memorate  his  death.  Sometimes  she  awoke  dur 
ing  the  night  and  composed  verses  but  could  not 
recall  all  of  them  the  next  morning.  As  soon  as 
Mrs.  Wheatley  discovered  this,  she  began  leaving 
a  light  and  writing  materials  on  the  table  at  Phil- 
lis's  bedside  every  night.  In  cold  weather,  she 
always  left  a  fire  burning  on  the  hearth  in  Phillis's 
room. 

For  six  years  Phillis  was  busy  writing  poetry 
and  letters  and  studying  and  receiving  visitors. 
Many  people  in  England  corresponded  with  her. 
The  educated  people  of  Boston  were  often  seen 
making  their  way  to  the  Wheatley  home.  They 
talked  with  Phillis  and  questioned  her,  and  often 


172  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

asked  her  to  read  some  of  her  poetry.  When  she 
in  turn  went  to  their  homes  they  took  great  pride 
in  showing  her  off  as  a  wonder.  Those  who  talked 
with  her  marveled  at  her  knowing  so  much  about 
English  poetry,  astronomy,  ancient  history  and 
the  Bible, 

She  continued  to  write  and  study.  In  her  nine 
teenth  year  she  became  so  thin  and  pale  that  the 
family  doctor  advised  Mrs.  Wheatley  to  give  her 
a  sea  voyage.  Accordingly,  the  following  summer, 
Phillis  set  out  for  London  with  Mrs.  Wheatley's 
son,  who  was  going  there  on  business.  On  her 
arrival  in  London,  after  days  of  travel,  some  of 
her  friends  with  whom  she  had  corresponded,  met 
her  and  welcomed  her.  As  she  visited  the  different 
ones,  she  went  to  dinner  parties  and  theatre  par 
ties  given  in  her  honor. 

When  articles  about  her  poetry  began  to  ap 
pear  in  many  of  the  leading  London  papers,  her 
friends  advised  her  to  have  all  of  her  poems  pub 
lished.  She  considered  the  matter  and  went  with 
some  of  them  to  see  a  publisher.  After  reviewing 
the  poems,  the  publisher  accepted  them  and  pub 
lished  them,  in  1773,  under  the  title,  "Poems  on 
Various  Subjects,  Religious  and  Moral,  by  Phillis 
Wheatley". 

As  soon  as  copies  of  the  poems  reached  America 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  [  173 

and  were  read,  many  people  expressed  doubt 
about  the  author  being  an  African  girl.  The  Gov 
ernor  of  Massachusetts  and  seventeen  other  Bos- 
tonians,  upon  hearing  this  report,  wrote  a  letter 
assuring  people  everywhere  that  these  poems  were 
written  by  Phillis  Wheatley. 

Phillis  Wheatley's  London  friends  were  mak 
ing  plans  to  present  her  to  their  king,  George  III, 
who  was  expected  in  London  within  a  few  days, 
but  word  reached  her  that  Mrs.  Wheatley  was 
quite  ill  and  wished  to  see  her  at  once.  Her  pas 
sage  was  secured  for  her  while  she  packed  her 
trunk.  As  fortune  would  have  it,  a  vessel  was 
sailing  that  day  for  Boston.  She  bade  her  friends 
good-bye  and  put  out  to  sea.  The  vessel  moved 
slowly,  but  after  days  of  travel  it  landed  at  Bos 
ton.  She  was  met  at  the  dock  and  hurried  to  the 
Wheatley  home.  Mrs.  Wheatley  caressed  her 
again  and  again,  and  lay  looking  at  her  for  days. 
For  two  months  Phillis  waited  upon  Mrs.  Wheat- 
ley  and  sat  by  her  bedside  night  after  night  until 
she  died.  Four  years  later  another  shock  came  to 
the  family — Mr.  Wheatley  died.  Seven  months 
after  his  death  his  daughter  passed  away,  leaving 
Phillis  alone. 

Phillis  lived  a  short  while  with  a  friend  of  the 
Wheatleys  and  then  rented  a  room  and  lived 


174*  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

alone.  She  lived  in  this  way  until  she  began  to 
taste  the  bitterness  of  Revolutionary  War  times. 
At  that  time  one  goose  sold  for  forty  dollars  and 
one-fourth  of  a  lamb  sold  for  fifty  dollars. 

One  evening  during  these  hard  times  she  met 
a  handsome  man  by  the  name  of  Peters,  who  wore 
a  wig  and  carried  a  cane.  He  also  kept  a  grocery 
store,  practiced  law  and  wrote  poetry.  He  began 
at  once  to  pay  court  to  Phillis.  Later  he  called 
on  her,  often  took  her  out  for  a  stroll  or  to  a  party 
until  they  were  married  several  weeks  later. 

After  the  wedding  day,  Phillis  began  her  daily 
round  of  sweeping  and  cleaning,  cooking  and 
washing  and  ironing.  As  the  years  came  and  went, 
three  children  came  into  their  lives.  Mr.  Peters 
failed  in  business  and  then  left  to  Phillis  the  sup 
port  of  herself  and  the  children.  She  secured  a 
job  in  a  cheap  boarding-house,  where  she  worked 
every  day  from  early  morning  until  late  at  night. 
She  became  ill  from  overwork. 

During  the  first  summer  of  her  illness  two  of 
her  children  died.  The  following  winter,  cold  and 
snowy,  some  charitable  organization  placed  in  her 
back  yard  a  load  of  wood.  Although  the  wood  lay 
there,  Peters  often  went  out,  leaving  Phillis  lying 
on  her  poor  bed  without  a  spark  of  fire  on  the 
hearth.  She  lay  there  for  weeks. 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  [175 

Friends  and  distant  relatives  of  the  Wheatleys 
often  inquired  about  Phillis,  but  no  one  seemed 
to  know  where  she  was.  Finally  one  December 
afternoon,  in  1784,  as  a  grand-niece  of  Mrs. 
Wheatley  chanced  to  be  walking  up  Court  Street 
in  Boston  she  met  a  funeral.  Upon  inquiry 
she  learned  that  it  was  the  funeral  of  Phillis 
Wheatley. 

AN  HYMN  TO  THE  MORNING 

Attend  my  lays,  ye  ever-honor'd  nine; 
Assist  my  labours,  and  my  strain  refine ; 
In  smoothest  numbers  pour  the  notes  along, 
For  bright  aurora  now  demands  my  song. 

Aurora  hail,  and  all  the  thousand  dyes, 

Which  deck  thy  progress  through  the  vaulted  skies: 

The  morn  awakes,  and  wide  extends  her  rays, 

On  ev'ry  leaf  the  gentle  zephyr  plays ; 

Harmonious  lays  the  feather'd  race  resume, 

Part  the  bright  eye,  and  shake  the  painted  plume. 

Ye  shady  groves,  your  verdant  gloom  display 
To  shield  your  poet  from  the  burning  day; 
Calliope  awake  the  sacred  lyre, 
While  thy  fair  sisters  fan  the  pleasing  fire: 
The  bow'rs,  the  gales,  the  variegated  skies 
In  all  their  pleasures  in  my  bosom  rise. 

See  in  the  East  th'  illustrious  king  of  day ! 
His  rising  radiance  drives  the  shades  away. 
But  oh !   I  feel  his  fervid  beams  too  strong, 
And  scarce  begun,  concludes  th'  abortive  song. 

— From  Poems  on  Various  Subjects, 
Religious  and  Moral. 


176  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

AN  HYMN  TO  THE  EVENING 

Soon  as  the  sun  forsook  the  eastern  main 
The  pealing  thunder  shook  the  heav'nly  plain; 
Majestic  grandeur!   From  the  zephyr's  wing, 
Exhales  the  incense  of  the  blooming  spring. 
Soft  purl  the  streams,  the  birds  renew  their  notes, 
And  through  the  air  their  mingled  music  floats. 

Through  all  the  heav'ns  what  beauteous  dyes  are 

spread ! 

But  the  west  glories  in  the  deepest  red: 
So  may  our  breasts  with  ev'ry  virtue  glow, 
The  living  temples  of  our  God  below ! 
Fill'd  with  the  praise  of  him  who  gives  the  light, 
And  draws  the  sable  curtains  of  the  night. 

Let  placid  slumbers  sooth  each  weary  mind, 
At  morn  to  wake  more  heav'nly,  more  refin'd; 
So  shall  the  labours  of  the  day  begin 
More  pure,  more  guarded  from  the  snares  of  sin. 
Night's  leaden  sceptre  seals  my  drowsy  eyes, 
Then  cease,  my  song,  till  fair  Aurora  rise. 


Imagination!    Who  can  sing  thy  force? 
Or  who  describe  the  swiftness  of  thy  course? 
Soaring  through  air  to  find  the  bright  abode, 
Th'  empyreal  palace  of  the  thund'ring  God, 
We  on  thy  pinions  can  surpass  the  wind, 
And  leave  the  rolling  universe  behind: 
From  star  to  star  the  mental  optics  rove, 
Measure  the  skies,  and  range  the  realms  above. 
There  in  one  view  we  grasp  the  mighty  whole, 
Or  with  new  worlds  amaze  th'  unbounded  soul. 

— Taken  from  "Imagination" 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY  [177 

Improve  your  privileges  while  they  stay, 
Ye  pupils,  and  each  hour  redeem,  that  bears 
Or  good  or  bad  report  of  you  to  heav'n; 
Let  sin,  that  baneful  evil  to  the  soul, 
By  you  be  shunn'd,  nor  once  remit  your  guard; 
Suppress  the  deadly  serpent  in  its  egg, 
Ye  blooming  plants  of  human  race  divine, 
An  Ethiop  tells  you  'tis  your  greatest  foe; 
Its  transient  sweetness  turns  to  endless  pain, 
And  in  immense  perdition  sinks  the  soul. 

— Taken  from  "To  the  University  of 
Cambridge,  in  New  England" 


TOUSSAINT  I/OUVERTURE 


"MY  CHILDREN,  CHOOSE  YOUR  DUTY. 


Chapter  X 

TOUSSAINT  L'OUVERTURE 

COMMANDEK-IN-CHIEF  OF  AN  AEMY 

PBESIDENT  OF  HAYTI 

1743-1803 

MANY  years  ago  a  keen-faced  little  boy  with 
protruding  lips,  Toussaint  by  name,  was 
busy,  day  by  day,  tending  a  great  herd  of  cattle 
on  the  Island  of  Hayti  in  the  West  Indies.  He 
started  out  early  every  morning,  cracking  his 
whip  as  loudly  as  he  could  and  getting  his  cows  in 
line.  Often  he  ran  upon  one,  gave  her  a  cut  and 
called  out,  "Gee,  there,  Sally;  ha,  ha,  get  in  line 
there,  Buck!  Come  on  now!  Get  up,  I  say!" 

That  great  herd  of  cattle  marched  out  at  his 
bidding  and  began  to  graze  in  the  deep  valleys  or 
on  the  high  mountains.  Even  the  most  unruly 
ones  ate  around  and  around  in  the  high  grass.  All 
of  them  ate  and  ate,  and  many  lay  down  about 
noon  and  chewed  their  cuds.  Toussaint  kept  his 
eye  on  them  and  at  the  same  time  busied  himself 
with  other  things. 

One  day  he  climbed  an  orange  tree,  sat  in  the 
fork  of  it  and  ate  oranges  until  his  stomach  looked 
like  a  little  stuffed  pouch.  Another  day  he  sat 

[181] 


182  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

lazily  under  a  banana  tree,  reached  up  and  pulled 
bananas  and  ate  and  ate,  and  pulled  more  and  ate 
until  he  almost  fell  asleep.  Still  another  day,  he 
hammered  away  on  a  hard  coconut  shell  trying 
to  burst  it  with  his  fist.  Later,  he  joined  the  na 
tives  for  a  few  minutes  as  they  washed  gold  from 
the  sands  of  a  stream  of  water. 

While  many  of  the  cows  were  resting  from  the 
heat  one  day,  Toussaint  ran  across  to  the  two 
great  hills  of  pure  salt.  "Oh,  isn't  that  beautiful", 
he  said  in  French.  "And  do  we  really  eat  that 
salt  in  our  food?  And  is  one  of  those  salt  hills  two 
miles  long?  Well,  there  must  be  enough  salt  there 
to  salt  down  everything  and  everybody  on  the 
island.  I  guess  we'll  be  salting  down  the  trees 
next",  he  added.  The  next  day  at  noon  he  ran 
away  to  the  blue  copper  mines  and  the  sulphur 
mines  and  gathered  a  handful  of  flowers  along 
the  way. 

As  the  time  passed,  he  settled  down  to  get  out 
his  reading,  arithmetic,  geometry  and  Latin. 
Toussaint's  teacher,  who  was  an  older  slave,  had 
in  some  way  learned  quite  a  little  of  these  subjects 
and  was  teaching  him  secretly  at  night. 

Years  passed,  and  Toussaint  continued  to  tend 
the  cattle  as  though  nothing  terrible  would  ever 
happen  to  him.  Cattle-tending  days  finally  ceased, 


TOUSSAINT  I/OUVERTURE  [183 

and  he  was  promoted  to  the  position  of  coachman 
and  horse  doctor. 

1  Some  of  the  boys  eyed  him  jealously  as  his 
carriage  dashed  by  them.  They  said,  "Eh,  Mr. 
Horse  Doctor!  Drenching  old  horses,  ha,  ha!" 

Toussaint  reared  back  and  held  the  lines 
tightly  with  his  arms  outstretched.  With  his  horses 
all  sleek  and  his  carriage  polished  like  a  looking- 
glass,  he  sat  back  like  the  grandson  of  an  African 
king,  as  he  was,  and  drove  with  a  steady  hand. 

Apparently  happy  now  in  his  new  position,  he 
married  an  African  young  woman  whose  parents, 
like  his  own,  had  been  brought  from  Africa  to 
Hayti  many  years  before.  Many  other  Africans 
had  been  brought  over  as  slaves  to  this  island  to 
work  the  land  because  the  natives  of  Hayti  had 
died  out.  There  were  also  on  the  island  French 
men,  Spaniards  and  free  Negroes. 

Trouble  arose  among  these  people  and  war 
broke  out.  For  days  fires  raged,  houses  were 
burned  and  thousands  of  people  fell  dead  and 
mortally  wounded  by  bullets.  Toussaint  looked  on, 
but  took  no  part  in  the  war  at  first.  When  his 
master's  home  was  about  to  be  burned  to  the 
ground  he  broke  into  it,  rescued  very  valuable 
articles  for  his  master,  and  helped  his  master's 
family  to  escape  from  the  island.  Then  he  became 


184  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

a  free  man,  joined  the  army  of  slaves  and  soon 
rose  to  the  rank  of  colonel.  His  army  joined  with 
the  Spaniards,  but  when  the  French  gave  freedom 
to  all  the  slaves,  his  army  joined  the  French  and 
drove  the  Spaniards  from  the  island. 

Before  the  close  of  the  war,  the  French  made 
Toussaint  brigadier-general.  As  brigadier-gen 
eral  he  made  charts  of  the  island  and  studied  them 
so  closely  that  he  knew  the  course  of  every  stream 
and  the  location  of  every  hill. 

He  fought  the  Spanish  so  hard  that  one  after 
another  of  their  towns  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
French.  One  day  a  French  soldier  exclaimed, 
f(Cet  homme  fait  ouverture  partout"  (this  man 
makes  an  opening  everywhere) .  This  saying  was 
passed  along  by  the  soldiers,  and  ever  after  this 
Toussaint  was  called  "Toussaint  L' Ouverture" 
(Toussaint,  the  opening).  'Tis  true  he  had  been 
in  battles  and  made  openings,  but  nothing  terrible 
had  happened  to  him  yet. 

For  a  long  time  the  French  general  seemed  to 
have  very  little  confidence  in  Toussaint,  but  once 
this  general  was  thrown  into  prison  on  the  island. 
Toussaint  marched  at  the  head  of  an  army  of 
10,000  men,  had  him  released  and  restored  him 
to  his  office.  For  this  act  Toussaint  was  ap 
pointed  lieutenant-governor  of  the  island.  Later 


TOUSSAINT  I/OUVERTURE  [185 

on  he  became  commander-m-chief  of  the  French 
army  in  Santo  Domingo.  This  was  the  most  im 
portant  position  on  the  island  where  Toussaint 
had  been  a  slave  for  nearly  fifty  years.  Every 
where  people  gladly  co-operated  with  him  in  his 
administration. 

Now  that  things  were  going  well,  he  sent  his 
two  sons  to  Paris  to  be  educated.  The  French 
rulers  publicly  praised  him  and  called  him  the  de 
liverer  of  Santo  Domingo.  The  French  Govern 
ment  presented  him  with  a  richly  embroidered 
dress  and  a  suit  of  superb  armor. 

Finally  Toussaint  became  president  of  Hayti 
for  life.  It  is  said  that  his  generals  were  as  obe 
dient  to  him  as  children.  His  soldiers  looked  upon 
him  as  a  wonder,  and  the  people  generally  wor 
shipped  him  as  their  deliverer.  English  officers 
who  fought  against  him  said  that  he  never  broke 
his  word. 

He  was  plain  in  his  dress  and  in  all  his  manners. 
His  dinner  often  consisted  of  cakes,  fruit  and  a 
glass  of  water.  He  often  jumped  on  his  horse 
and  rode  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  without  rest. 
Then  he  would  rest  for  two  hours  and  start  out 
again. 

During  the  last  two  years  of  Toussaint's  life,  a 
terrible  thing  happened  to  him.  Napoleon  Bona- 


186  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

parte,  the  ruler  of  France,  because  of  jealousy, 
it  is  said,  sent  against  Toussaint  twenty-six  war 
ships  and  a  number  of  transports.  On  board  these 
vessels  there  were  twenty-five  thousand  French 
soldiers.  When  Toussaint  looked  out  upon  the 
ocean  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  this  great  fleet,  he 
said  in  his  native  tongue,  "All  France  is  coming 
to  Santo  Domingo".  The  soldiers  landed  and  be 
gan  to  slaughter  the  natives. 

Toussaint's  two  sons,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for 
several  years,  were  on  one  of  the  ships.  When  they 
saw  their  father  they  ran  to  meet  him.  Toussaint 
could  not  speak,  but  he  and  his  sons  threw  them 
selves  into  each  other's  arms  and  wept  bitterly. 
The  French  general,  it  is  said,  saw  that  he  could 
not  use  these  boys  to  play  a  trick  on  their  father 
and  thus  make  him  yield  to  the  French.  He  then 
said  that  the  boys  must  be  taken  back  to  France. 
Toussaint  stood  before  his  sons  with  folded  arms, 
saying  in  the  French  language,  "My  children, 
choose  your  duty;  whatever  it  be,  I  shall  always 
love  and  bless  you". 

One  of  the  boys  said,  "I  am  done  with  France. 
I  shall  fight  by  your  side,  Father."  The  other  boy 
left  his  father  and  returned  to  France.  The  cruel 
war  continued.  Toussaint  and  his  generals  with  a 
small  body  of  troops  fortified  themselves  in  a 


TOUSSAINT  I/OUVERTURE  [187 

mountainous  retreat.  The  French  soldiers  tried 
hard  for  a  long  time  to  dislodge  them  but  they 
could  not.  Finally  Toussaint  sent  two  of  his  pris 
oners  with  a  letter  to  the  French  General  saying 
that  he  would  make  peace. 

A  few  days  later,  when  Toussaint  came  forth  to 
greet  the  French  general,  guns  were  fired  in  Tous- 
saint's  honor  and  all  heads  were  bowed  as  he 
passed  by.  Three  hundred  horsemen  with  their 
sabres  drawn  followed  Toussaint  to  protect  him. 
He  and  the  French  General  agreed  on  a  plan,  but 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  declared  that  Toussaint 
must  be  sent  as  a  prisoner  to  France. 

It  was  difficult  to  take  him  as  a  prisoner  and  so 
a  trick  was  played  on  him.  At  the  giving  of  a 
signal,  French  soldiers  sprang  upon  his  guards 
and  disarmed  them.  Then  they  bade  Toussaint 
give  up  his  sword.  He  yielded  it  in  silence  and 
was  taken  to  his  own  home.  A  band  of  French 
soldiers  came  during  the  night  and  forced  him  and 
his  wife  to  go  aboard  a  French  vessel. 

On  their  way  to  France  Toussaint's  cabin  door 
was  guarded  by  soldiers.  His  wrists  were  chained 
together.  He  was  not  even  permitted  to  talk  with 
his  wife.  When  his  vessel  landed  at  Brest,  France, 
a  detachment  of  soldiers  took  him  to  Paris  and 
placed  him  in  prison.  Winter  soon  came  on  and 


188  ]  UNSUNG  HEEOES 

he  was  taken  to  an  old  castle  away  up  in  the  Jura 
Mountains.  In  this  old  castle  there  was  a  cold, 
wet  dungeon  partly  under  ground.  He  was 
plunged  into  this  and  there  he  remained  for  ten 
months,  neglected,  humiliated  and  starved.  On 
the  27th  of  April,  1803,  he  was  found  dead  in  his 
dungeon. 

Toussaint,  the  most  unhappy  man  of  men! 

Whether  the  whistling  rustic  tend  his  plough 

Within  thy  hearing,  or  thou  liest  now 

Buried  in  some  deep  dungeon's  earless  den, 

O  miserable  chieftain!  where  and  when 

Wilt  thou  find  patience?    Yet  die  not;  do  thou 

Wear  rather  in  thy  bonds  a  cheerful  brow; 

Though  fallen  thyself,  never  to  rise  again, 

Live  and  take  comfort.     Thou  hast  left  behind 

Powers  that  will  work  for  thee — air,  earth  and  skies; 

There's  not  a  breathing  of  the  common  wind 

That  will  forget  thee — thou  hast  great  allies ; 

Thy  friends  are  exultations,  agonies, 

And  love,  and  man's  unconquerable  mind. 

— William  Wordsworth. 


JOSIAH  HENSON 


Chapter  XI 

JOSIAH  HENSON 

THE  FAITHFUL  SERVANT 
1789-1881 

T  OSIAH  HENSON,  or  "Si"  as  he  was  called, 
J  tried  at  the  age  of  fifteen  to  out-hoe,  out-reap, 
out-husk,  out-dance  every  other  boy  on  his  mas 
ter's  plantation  in  Charles  County,  Maryland. 
Boys  would  sometimes  stand  around  and  look  at 
"Si"  and  talk  about  the  wonderful  things  he  could 
do  and  the  great  stories  they  had  heard  about  him. 
One  special  story  they  liked  to  tell. 

The  story  was  this:  As  a  child  "Si"  was  such  a 
sickly  little  fellow  his  master  offered  to  sell  him 
cheaply  to  the  man  who  owned  his  mother.  His 
mother's  master  hesitated  to  buy  him,  saying, 
"I  am  afraid  the  little  devil  might  die.  I  do  not 
wish  to  buy  a  dead  brat".  Nevertheless,  he  finally 
agreed  to  shoe  some  horses  for  Si's  master  and 
thus  pay  a  small  sum  for  Si. 

Occasionally  after  some  boy  was  through  tell 
ing  this  stock  tale,  which  always  produced  a  laugh, 
other  boys  would  begin  to  guess  why  Si  was  so 
great.  One  said  one  day,  "I  guess  it's  that  meat 

[191] 


192  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Si  eats  at  Christmas  time.  He  certainly  doesn't 
get  much  at  any  other  time". 

"No",  said  another,  who  slept  in  the  cabin 
with  Si,  "Si  sleeps  more  soundly  than  any  one  of 
us  in  the  cabin,  and  there  are  twelve  of  us  who 
sleep  in  that  one  room,  counting  the  women  and 
girls.  Give  me  a  board  and  let  me  show  you  how 
Si  stretches  out  on  his  plank.  Now  give  me  some 
straw  to  go  under  my  head.  How  I  wish  there 
were  a  big  fire  on  a  hearth  to  toast  my  feet  before, 
like  Si  does  as  he  sleeps!" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  boys  as  the  young 
fellow  stretched  out  on  the  board  like  Si. 

A  third  boy  then  said,  "Well,  Si  was  named  for 
two  great  men — his  master,  Dr.  Josiah,  and  Dr. 
Josiah's  uncle,  Mr.  Henson,  who  was  an  army 
officer".  Other  boys  gave  still  other  reasons  for 
Si's  greatness.  However,  the  one  thing  upon 
which  all  were  agreed  was  that  Si  could  out-hoe, 
out-reap,  out-husk,  out-dance,  out-everything 
every  other  boy  on  his  master's  plantation  in 
Charles  County,  Maryland. 

Si  seemed  to  grow  steadily  in  favor  with  his 
master  and  the  older  slaves  as  well  as  with  the 
boys.  One  day  he  went  to  his  master  and  reported 
that  the  overseer  was  stealing  things  at  a  certain 
time  every  day.  His  master  sent  him  out  to  watch 


JOSIAH  HENSON  [  193 

for  the  overseer.  Just  as  the  overseer  came  around 
for  his  booty,  Si  ran  for  his  master.  His  master 
ran  out  and  caught  the  overseer  in  the  act  of 
stealing  and  dismissed  him  at  once. 

Josiah,  as  his  master  called  him,  was  then  pro 
moted  to  the  position  of  superintendent  of  the 
farm,  but  without  pay.  He  led  the  slaves.  He 
hoed  and  plowed  early  and  late.  Men  and  women 
worked  harder  and  far  more  cheerfully  than  usual. 
The  crops  were  nearly  doubled.  Josiah  often  rose 
from  his  plank  at  midnight,  hitched  the  mules  to 
a  loaded  wagon  and  drove  through  mud  and  rain 
to  the  Georgetown  or  the  Washington,  D.  C., 
market  to  sell  the  produce. 

One  day  as  he  was  selling  at  McKenny's  bakery 
in  Georgetown,  he  asked  Mr.  McKenny  about  a 
sermon  which  he  had  recently  heard  Mr.  Mc 
Kenny  preach.  After  telling  Mr.  McKenny  that 
that  was  the  first  sermon  he  had  ever  heard,  he 
asked  how  men  learned  to  preach. 

Mr.  McKenny  told  him  a  little  about  God  and 
the  Bible.  He  went  further,  saying,  "My  young 
man,  you  must  be  about  nineteen  or  twenty  years 
old  now.  You  have  a  good  mind.  You  must  learn 
to  preach  to  your  people".  This  thought  seemed 
to  linger  with  Josiah  as  he  made  his  way  back 
home  that  evening  hungry  and  tired. 


194  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

His  master,  he  learned,  had  been  away  at  the 
tavern  nearly  all  day.  He  ate  his  supper,  called 
for  his  master's  saddle  horse,  which  he  led  to  the 
tavern.  As  his  master's  body-servant,  he  alighted 
and  went  in.  Just  as  he  reached  the  door  he  saw 
his  master  cornered  and  a  dozen  men  striking  at 
him  with  their  fists,  chairs,  crockery  and  whatever 
was  at  hand. 

The  moment  Josiah's  master  saw  him  he 
shouted,  "That's  it,  Josiah!  Pitch  in!  Show 
me  fair  play!"  Josiah  pitched  in.  He  knocked 
down  and  shoved  and  tripped  up  the  fighters, 
sustaining  many  bruises  on  his  own  head  and 
shoulders.  Finally  he  was  able  to  drag  his  master 
out  and  pack  him  into  a  wagon  like  a  bag  of  corn 
and  drive  home.  In  the  scuffle  the  overseer  of 
Josiah's  master's  brother  got  a  fall  which  he 
attributed  to  Josiah's  roughness. 

One  week  later  Josiah's  master  sent  him  to  a 
place  a  few  miles  away  to  mail  some  letters.  He 
took  a  short  cut  through  a  lane  which  was  bounded 
on  either  side  by  a  high  rail  fence  and  shut  in  at 
each  end  by  a  large  gate.  As  he  passed  through 
the  line,  he  saw  the  overseer  who  had  fallen  that 
night  and  three  slaves  in  an  adjoining  field.  On 
his  return,  the  overseer  was  seated  on  the  fence. 
Just  as  Josiah  approached,  the  overseer  jumped 


JOSIAH  HENSON  [  195 

from  the  fence.  Two  of  the  slaves  sprang  from 
the  bushes  in  front  of  Josiah  and  the  other  slave 
leaped  over  the  fence  behind  him.  After  listening 
to  several  commands  to  light  at  once,  Josiah 
slipped  off  his  horse.  Orders  were  given  him  to 
remove  his  shirt,  but  he  shook  his  head.  Just  then 
the  men  struck  at  him  so  violently  that  his  horse 
broke  away  and  ran  home.  Josiah,  in  warding  off 
the  blow,  got  into  a  corner.  The  overseer  ordered 
the  slaves  to  seize  him,  but  they,  knowing  Josiah's 
reputation,  hesitated  to  run  upon  him.  The  two 
slaves  that  finally  ventured  upon  Josiah  were  so 
completely  knocked  out  that  the  overseer  began 
to  fight  like  a  madman.  As  he  struck  at  Josiah 
with  a  piece  of  fence  rail,  Josiah  lifted  his  arms 
to  ward  off  the  blow.  The  bones  in  Josiah's  arms 
and  shoulders  cracked  like  pipe-stems,  and  he  fell 
headlong  to  the  ground. 

When  Josiah  finally  made  his  way  home,  his 
master,  already  anxious  because  of  the  return  of 
the  riderless  horse,  examined  him  and  went  in 
search  of  the  overseer,  whom  he  gave  a  severe 
flogging. 

With  the  belief  so  well  fixed  that  a  slave  would 
get  well  anyhow,  no  medical  aid  was  provided  for 
Josiah  except  what  came  at  the  hands  of  his  mas 
ter's  sister,  Miss  Patty.  Miss  Patty  flinched  at 


196  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

no  responsibility,  from  wrenching  out  teeth  to 
setting  bones.  She  splinted  Josiah's  arms  and 
bound  up  his  back  as  well  as  she  could. 

Five  months  later,  Josiah  began  to  plow,  to  take 
up  his  duties  as  superintendent,  and  to  make  his 
usual  trips  to  the  markets.  In  about  a  year,  al 
though  he  was  never  able  after  that  eventful  day 
to  raise  his  hands  to  his  head,  he  married  a  rather 
efficient,  pious  girl  who,  as  the  years  rolled  on, 
bore  him  twelve  children. 

Josiah  kept  the  slaves  cheerful  and  busy.  He 
furnished  his  master  with  abundance  of  money, 
which  his  master  used  freely  on  an  eighteen-year- 
old  girl  whom  he  soon  married. 

The  young  mistress,  in  her  attempt  to  save 
everything,  failed  to  provide  her  younger  brother, 
then  living  with  her,  with  enough  to  eat.  The  boy 
went  to  Josiah  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  asked  for 
food.  Josiah  shared  his  own  provisions  with  him. 
However,  in  spite  of  the  young  mistress's  frugal 
ity,  her  husband's  good  times  involved  him  in  debt 
and  in  lawsuits  with  his  brother-in-law  and 
others,  and  finally  in  ruin.  He  went  to  Josiah's 
cabin  one  cold  night  in  January.  As  he  sat  by 
the  fire  warming  himself,  he  began  to  groan  and 
wring  his  hands. 

"Sick,  master?"  said  Josiah.  He  kept  on  groan- 


JOSIAH  HENSON  [  197 

ing.   "Can't  I  help  you  any  way,  master?"  con 
tinued  Josiah. 

,  Finally  pulling  himself  together,  he  said,  "Oh, 
Josiah!  I'm  ruined,  ruined,  ruined!" 

"How,  master?"  asked  Josiah  in  excitement. 

The  master  replied,  "The  courts  have  ruled 
against  me,  and  in  less  than  two  weeks  every 
slave  I  have  will  be  put  up  and  sold.  There 
is  only  one  way  I  can  save  anything.  You  can  help 
me.  Won't  you,  Josiah?" 

"Yes",  replied  Josiah. 

His  master  then  said,  "I  want  you  to  run  away, 
Josiah,  to  my  brother  in  Kentucky,  and  take  all 
of  my  slaves  with  you".  Josiah  hesitated,  saying 
that  he  did  not  know  how  to  get  to  Kentucky.  His 
master  prevailed  upon  him  until  he  promised  to 
leave  the  following  night  for  Kentucky. 

The  next  morning  Josiah  set  about  making 
preparations  for  his  journey.  When  evening 
came  on  he  counted  all  of  the  slaves — eighteen  in 
number,  besides  himself,  his  two  children  and  his 
wife,  He  loaded  a  one-horse  wagon  with  oats, 
meal,  bacon  and  children,  and  set  out  about  eleven 
o'clock  for  Kentucky,  nearly  a  thousand  miles 
away.  The  men  trudged  all  the  way  in  the  cold. 
Occasionally  the  women  rested  by  getting  a  ride 
on  the  wagon.  After  about  two  months  and  a  half 


198  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

of  wonderful  experiences  on  the  road,  Josiah  and 
the  other  slaves  reached  Davis  County,  Kentucky. 

In  that  county  Josiah's  master's  brother  owned 
a  large  plantation  and  about  one  hundred  slaves. 
Josiah  became  superintendent  of  that  plantation 
after  several  months'  stay  there.  He  made  him 
self  about  as  content  as  he  could  under  the  cir 
cumstances.  He  occasionally  attended  preach 
ing  services  and  camp  meetings.  At  the  end  of 
his  three  years'  stay  in  Kentucky,  a  Quarterly 
Conference  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church 
admitted  him  as  a  minister.  About  this  time 
Josiah's  master  sent  an  agent  to  Kentucky  to  sell 
all  his  slaves  except  Josiah  and  his  family,  who 
were  to  return  to  Maryland. 

Directed  by  a  Methodist  minister,  Josiah 
preached  his  way  back  through  Ohio  to  Maryland, 
arriving  with  two  hundred  and  seventy-five  dol 
lars,  a  horse  and  his  first  suit  of  clothes.  His  mas 
ter  greeted  him,  commented  upon  his  fine  clothes 
and  sent  him  out  to  feed  his  horse.  Josiah  put  his 
horse  in  the  stable  and  went  to  the  kitchen,  where 
he  was  to  sleep.  He  could  not  sleep  for  planning 
how  to  get  his  master  to  accept  money  for  his  free 
dom.  His  master  was  not  easily  persuaded.  Nev 
ertheless,  he  accepted  three  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  in  cash  as  part  payment  for  Josiah's 


JOSIAH  HENSON  [  199 

freedom.  Josiah  set  out  again  for  Kentucky. 
Days  passed  before  he  was  again  back  in  his  Ken 
tucky  cabin  with  his  family.  He  became  angry 
as  soon  as  he  heard  how  much  more  he  had  to  pay 
before  he  could  be  free,  and  yet  he  went  about  his 
work  as  usual. 

A  year  passed.  One  day  Josiah's  master  told 
him  that  his  son  Amos  was  going  to  New  Orleans 
with  a  flat-boat  load  of  beef  cattle,  pigs,  poultry, 
corn  and  whiskey.  He  said  further  that  Josiah 
was  to  go  with  his  son.  Josiah's  countenance  fell. 
He  said  he  feared  he  would  never  return.  When 
he  was  ready  to  go,  his  wife  and  children  walked 
to  the  landing  with  him,  where  he  bade  them 
good-bye. 

Young  master  Amos,  Josiah  and  three  other 
men  were  the  only  persons  on  the  boat.  Each 
one  except  Josiah  took  his  turn  at  the  helm,  usual 
ly  under  the  direction  of  the  captain.  Josiah  took 
three  turns  to  each  of  the  other  men's  one.  He 
managed  the  boat  so  well  that  when  the  captain 
was  struck  totally  blind  on  the  trip,  all  depended 
upon  him  for  reaching  New  Orleans  in  safety. 
However,  he  did  not  know  the  river  well  enough 
to  travel  by  night;  therefore  the  boat  had  to  lay 
by  when  night  came  on. 

One  dark,  stormy  night,  when  they  were  within 


200  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

a  few  days'  sail  of  New  Orleans,  Josiah  sat  knit 
ting  his  brow  and  beating  his  breast  in  apparently 
hopeless  despair.  Suddenly  he  rose,  saying,  "I  will 
kill  the  four  men  on  the  boat,  take  all  the  money, 
scuttle  the  boat  and  escape  to  the  North".  He 
walked  alone  on  deck,  while  the  other  men  were 
all  asleep.  Finally  he  went  down,  got  an  ax,  and 
entered  his  young  master's  cabin  where  he  lay 
fast  asleep.  Josiah  raised  the  ax  and  was  about 
to  strike,  but  hesitated,  saying,  "What,  commit 
murder,  and  I  a  Christian?"  His  arm  dropped,  the 
ax  fell  to  the  floor.  Then  he  said  to  himself,  "Ah, 
I  am  glad  the  thought  took  hold  of  me.  Evil 
deeds  cannot  be  hidden.  'Murder  will  out.'  I 
must  not  lose  all  the  fruits  of  my  effort  at  im 
proving  myself.  I  must  not  lose  my  character". 
He  shrank  back  and  fell  upon  his  knees. 

Soon  after  they  arrived  in  New  Orleans,  the 
cargo  was  all  sold  and  the  men  were  discharged. 
Josiah  was  to  be  sold  the  next  day  and  Master 
Amos  was  to  take  passage  back  on  a  steamboat  at 
six  o'clock  that  evening. 

Josiah  could  not  sleep  that  night.  Just  a  short 
while  before  daylight,  Master  Amos  called  him, 
saying,  "My  stomach  is  out  of  order".  Josiah 
arose  and  went  to  him.  His  illness  was  so  violent 
that  Josiah  saw  at  once  that  he  had  the  river  fever. 


JOSIAH  HENSON  [  201 

By  eight  o'clock  that  morning  he  was  helpless. 
He  begged  Josiah  to  stick  to  him  until  he  reached 
home  again.  Josiah  sold  the  flat-boat,  placed  his 
young  master  and  the  trunk  containing  the  money 
for  the  cargo  on  the  steamer  and  was  off  for  Ken 
tucky  by  twelve  o'clock  that  day.  As  he  sat  by 
his  master,  bathing  his  fevered  head,  he  could  not 
help  feeling  that  God  had  opened  the  way  for  his 
return  to  his  family  in  Kentucky. 

During  the  days  that  Josiah  was  preaching  his 
way  through  Ohio,  he  had  heard  much  about  fugi 
tive  slaves.  He  had  also  met  several  men  who 
were  engaged  in  assisting  fugitives  to  escape.  All 
of  this  now  came  back  to  him  very  vividly. 

He  thought  and  thought,  and  then  spoke  to  his 
wife  about  running  away  to  the  North.  Struck 
with  fear,  she  attempted  to  show  him  the  dangers 
in  their  way.  After  pleading  with  her  for  several 
days,  he  told  her  one  night  that  he  was  going  to 
take  the  children  and  go.  She,  too,  then  agreed 
to  go.  Josiah  wondered  now  how  he  could  carry 
his  younger  children — one  of  whom  was  three 
years  and  the  other  only  two.  He  placed  them  in 
a  tow-sack  which  his  wife  had  made,  lifted  it  gen 
tly  across  his  shoulder  and  practiced  carrying 
them  on  his  back.  This  he  did  for  several  nights. 

Finally  the  evening  in  September  agreed  upon 


202  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

for  their  start  came  around.  Everything  was  ready 
for  the  venture  with  one  exception — Josiah  had 
not  obtained  his  master's  permission  to  let  little 
Tom,  the  eldest  child,  come  home  to  see  his  mother. 
About  sundown,  he  went  up  to  the  great  house  to 
report  his  work.  After  talking  with  his  master  for 
a  time  he  started  off  as  usual.  Suddenly  he  turned 
carelessly  back,  saying,  "Oh,  Master  Amos,  I 
almost  forgot.  Tom's  mother  wishes  to  know  if 
you  will  let  him  come  down  a  few  days ;  she  would 
like  to  mend  his  clothes  and  fix  him  up  a  little". 

"Yes,  boy,  yes,  he  can  go",  said  Master  Amos. 

"Thank  you,  Master  Amos,  good  night",  said 
Josiah. 

"Good  night,  Josiah",  said  he. 

"The  Lord  bless  you,  Master  Amos",  added 
Josiah,  as  he  and  Tom  struck  a  trot  for  home. 
Everybody  at  home  was  ready  to  start.  The  babies 
were  even  sitting  in  the  sack.  Soon  they  were  all 
at  the  ferry.  About  nine  o'clock  on  that  moonless 
night,  Josiah  and  his  family  were  set  across  the 
river  in  a  little  skiff  rowed  by  a  fellow  slave.  They 
walked  and  walked  until  they  were  within  two 
days  of  reaching  Cincinnati,  when  their  food  gave 
out  and  they  were  nearly  exhausted.  Josiah  ven 
tured  out  to  beg  something  for  his  children  to  eat. 
Finally  a  good  woman  filled  a  plate  with  salty 


JOSIAH  HENSON  [  203 

venison  and  bread  and  gave  it  to  him,  saying, 
"God  bless  you". 

1  The  children  ate  and  then  cried  for  water. 
Josiah  went  in  search  of  water  and  found  a  little. 
Seeing  that  his  old  hat  leaked  too  badly  to  hold 
water,  he  pulled  off  both  his  shoes,  rinsed  them 
out  and  filled  them  with  water,  which  he  took  to 
his  thirsty  children,  who  drank  and  drank  until 
both  shoes  were  drained. 

Refreshed  with  food  and  water,  they  arose  and 
continued  their  journey.  After  several  weeks' 
travel  they  reached  Sandusky,  Ohio,  where  they 
secured  passage  to  Buffalo,  New  York,  with  a 
Scotch  captain.  The  Scotch  captain,  on  reaching 
the  end  of  his  trip,  paid  their  passage  money  on 
the  ferry-boat  across  to  Canada  and  gave  Josiah 
one  dollar  besides.  On  the  twenty-eighth  of  Oc 
tober,  1830,  they  arrived  in  Canada. 

Josiah  Henson  began  to  work  for  a  man  with 
whom  he  remained  three  years.  This  man  gave 
Tom,  Henson's  twelve-year-old  son,  two  quarters' 
schooling.  Tom  soon  learned  to  read  well,  and  he 
read  a  great  deal  to  his  father  from  the  Bible  on 
Sunday  mornings  when  his  father  was  to  preach. 

One  Sunday  morning  Henson  asked  Tom 
to  read.  Tom  turned  to  the  One-hundred-and- 
third  Psalm  and  read:  "Bless  the  Lord,  O  my 


204  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

soul:  and  all  that  is  within  me,  bless  His  holy 


name". 


When  he  had  finished,  he  turned  to  his  father 
and  said,  "Father,  who  was  David?  He  writes 
prettily,  doesn't  he?"  And  then  Tom  asked 
again,  "Father,  who  was  David?" 

Henson  said  he  was  utterly  unable  to  answer 
Tom's  question,  for  he  had  never  before  heard  of 
David,  but  he  tried  to  conceal  his  embarrassment 
by  saying,  "David  was  a  man  of  God,  my  son". 

"I  suppose  so",  said  Tom,  "but  I  want  to  know 
something  more  about  him.  Where  did  he  live? 
What  did  he  do?" 

Finally  Henson  said  frankly,  "I  do  not  know, 
Tom". 

Tom  exclaimed,  "Why,  Father,  can't  you  read  ?" 

"I  cannot",  said  Henson. 

"Why  not?"  said  Tom. 

"Because  I  never  had  an  opportunity  to  learn, 
nor  anybody  to  teach  me",  replied  Henson. 

"Well,  you  can  learn  now,  Father",  said  Tom. 

"No,  my  son",  answered  Henson.  "I  am  too 
old  and  have  not  time  enough.  I  must  work  all 
day  or  you  would  not  have  enough  to  eat." 

Tom  said,  "Then  you  might  do  it  at  night". 

Henson  thought  a  moment  and,  looking  at 
his  bright-eyed  boy,  said,  "But  still  there's  no- 


JOSIAH  HENSON  [  205 

body  to  teach  me.  I  can't  afford  to  pay  anybody 
for  it,  and  of  course,  no  one  can  do  it  for  nothing". 
'Tom  approached  his  father,  saying,  "Why 
Father,  I'll  teach  you;  and  then  you'll  know  so 
much  more  you  can  talk  better  and  preach  better". 
After  wrestling  with  the  matter  a  short  time, 
Henson  agreed  that  Tom  was  right.  They  began 
and  continued  through  the  winter  to  study  to 
gether  every  evening  by  the  light  of  a  pine-knot  or 
some  hickory  bark,  until  the  coming  of  spring, 
when  Henson  had  learned  to  read  a  little. 

Now,  at  the  age  of  fifty  years,  he  was  having 
some  very  new  experiences.  In  line  with  his 
thought  of  establishing  a  school  to  help  his  people, 
he  went  to  a  Boston  friend  for  aid,  who  in  turn 
went  to  England  and  raised  $15,000  for  the  school. 
With  this  money  two  hundred  acres  of  land  were 
bought  at  Dawn,  Canada,  on  which,  covered  as 
it  was  with  black  walnut  timber,  a  schoolhouse 
was  built  and  opened  to  the  public.  Later  a  saw 
mill  was  built  on  this  tract  of  land  and  set  to 
running.  The  school  and  the  sawmill  prospered 
for  a  while,  but  soon  both  were  in  need  of  funds. 

Henson  had  four  black  walnut  boards  so  highly 
polished  that  they  shone  like  mirrors.  These  he 
took  to  London,  England,  and  exhibited  at  the 
World's  Industrial  Exhibition.  For  this  exhibit 


206  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

he  was  awarded  a  bronze  medal  and  a  life-size 
picture  of  the  Queen  and  royal  family. 

This  was  neither  Henson's  first  nor  his  last 
trip  to  that  country.  After  some  years  of  trouble 
and  sorrow  and  loss,  he  returned  to  England, 
just  after  the  news  had  gone  abroad  that  he  was 
the  original  "Uncle  Tom"  of  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe's  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin".  This  time  many 
honors  were  heaped  upon  him.  He  even  visited 
Windsor  Castle  and  was  presented  to  Queen  Vic 
toria,  who  presented  him  with  a  photograh  of  her 
self  on  an  easel  frame  of  gold. 

On  his  return  to  the  United  States  in  1878,  he 
was  received  at  the  White  House  in  Washington, 
D.  C.,  by  President  Hayes.  Before  returning 
to  Canada  to  spend  the  last  three  years  of  his  life, 
he  visited  the  old  home  place  in  Charles  County, 
Maryland,  where  his  former  mistress,  for  whom 
he  had  worked  fifty  years  before,  and  who  was 
now  poor  and  decrepit,  wept  for  joy  at  the  sight 
of  him. 


SOJOURNER  TRUTH 


Chapter  XII 

SOJOURNER  TRUTH 

THE  SUFFRAGIST 
1800-1883 

A  MONG  Isabella's  earliest  recollections  was 
jLlLa  picture  of  her  father  and  mother  sitting 
night  after  night  in  their  damp  cellar,  lighted  by 
a  blazing  pine-knot,  talking  over  their  experiences 
of  bygone  days.  Occasionally  they  would  refer  to 
one  snowy  morning  when  an  old-fashioned  sleigh 
drove  up  to  their  door  and  took  away  their  un 
suspecting  little  boy,  Michael,  and  their  little  girl, 
Nancy,  locked  in  the  sleigh-box. 

Whenever  this  story  was  mentioned,  Isabella 
seemed  to  fall  into  a  deep  study.  However,  she 
was  left  to  remain  in  Ulster  County,  New  York, 
her  birthplace,  until  her  mother  and  father  died. 
She  was  then  sold  to  a  man  whose  wife  scolded 
and  frowned  at  her  creeping  gait,  her  dull  under 
standing  and  slovenly  ways.  In  spite  of  his  wife's 
impatience,  the  man  insisted  that  Isabella  could 
do  as  much  work  as  half  a  dozen  common  people 
and  do  it  well. 

Isabella,  therefore,  fond  of  trying  to  please  her 

[209] 


210  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

new  master,  often  worked  several  nights  in  suc 
cession,  taking  only  short  naps  as  she  sat  in  her 
chair.  Some  nights,  fearing  that  if  she  sat  down 
she  would  sleep  too  long,  she  took  only  cat-naps 
while  she  rested  against  the  kitchen  wall. 

One  morning  the  potatoes  which  Isabella  had 
cooked  for  breakfast  seemed  unusually  dingy  and 
dirty.  "Look!"  said  Isabella's  mistress  to  her 
husband,  "a  fine  specimen  of  Bell's  work!  It  is 
the  way  all  her  work  is  done!"  Isabella's  mas 
ter  scolded  her  and  bade  her  be  more  careful  in 
the  future.  The  two  white  servant-girls  in  the 
family  also  abused  Isabella  for  preparing  such 
food. 

Isabella  moped  around  apparently  wondering 
why  the  potatoes  looked  so  dingy  and  dirty.  As 
she  stood  wondering  how  to  avoid  this  the  next 
time,  Gertrude,  her  mistress's  little  daughter, 
stole  quietly  up  behind  her.  Said  she,  catching 
Isabella  by  the  arm,  "Bell,  if  you  will  wake  me 
early  tomorrow  morning,  I  will  get  up  and  attend 
to  your  potatoes  while  you  go  out  to  milk  the  cows. 
Then  Father  and  Mother  and  all  of  them  will  not 
be  scolding  you".  Isabella  bowed,  thanked  her 
and  promised  to  wake  her  early;  then  off  Ger 
trude  ran. 

The  next  morning,  just  as  the  potatoes  began 


SOJOUENEK  TRUTH  [  211 

to  boil  and  milking  time  came,  little  Gertrude 
walked  into  the  kitchen  and  seated  herself  in  the 
Corner  by  the  fire.  She  opened  her  little  sewing 
basket  and  busied  herself  with  making  something 
for  her  doll.  As  she  sat  there,  one  of  the  maids 
came  in  with  the  broom  in  her  hand  and  ordered 
her  out,  but  Gertrude  refused  to  go.  The  maid 
began  to  sweep  hurriedly.  When  she  reached  the 
fireplace,  she  pretended  to  be  in  such  a  hurry,  she 
caught  up  a  handful  of  ashes  and  quickly  dashed 
them  into  the  potatoes.  Gertrude  ran  out  of  the 
kitchen,  saying,  "Oh,  Poppee !  oh,  Poppee !  the  girl 
has  been  putting  ashes  into  Bell's  potatoes !  I  saw 
her  do  it!  Look  at  those  that  fell  on  the  outside 
of  the  kettle!"  She  ran  about  the  house  and  yard 
telling  her  story  to  every  one.  Her  father  listened 
to  her  story,  called  the  maid  in  and,  brandishing 
his  fist  at  her,  gave  her  orders  to  let  Bell  alone. 

For  many  years,  Isabella  tried  harder  each  year 
to  please  her  master.  Even  after  she  had  married 
and  become  the  mother  of  five  children,  she  obeyed 
him  to  such  an  extent  that  she  would  not  steal 
even  a  crust  of  bread  for  her  hungry  children. 
When  her  household  duties  were  done,  she  went 
to  the  field  to  work.  After  placing  her  baby  child 
in  a  basket,  she  tied  a  rope  to  each  handle  and 
suspended  the  basket  to  the  branches  of  a  tree. 


212  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

She  then  set  one  of  the  larger  children  to  swing 
the  basket  "in  order  to  make  the  baby  happy  and 
keep  the  snakes  away",  she  said. 

Isabella's  master  promised  that  if  she  would 
continue  to  be  faithful  he  would  set  her  free  one 
year  before  all  the  slaves  in  New  York  State 
were  to  be  free.  As  the  time  drew  near,  her  master 
claimed  that  because  of  her  sore  hand  that  year, 
she  had  been  of  less  value  and  would  therefore 
have  to  remain  longer.  However,  Isabella  decided 
to  remain  only  until  she  had  spun  all  his  wool. 

One  fine  morning,  a  little  before  daybreak,  she 
stepped  away  from  the  rear  of  her  master's  house 
with  her  baby  boy  on  one  arm  and  her  clothes  and 
provisions  tied  in  a  cotton  handkerchief  on  the 
other.  Fortunately,  she  landed  in  the  home  of  a 
man  who  made  no  practice  of  buying  and  selling 
people.  Nevertheless,  he  gave  Isabella's  master, 
who  came  in  search  of  her,  twenty- five  dollars  for 
her  freedom. 

Just  before  Isabella  left  her  master,  he  had 
sold  her  five-year-old  boy  to  a  man  who  was  on 
his  way  to  England.  The  man,  finding  the  boy 
too  small  for  his  services,  sent  him  back  to  his 
brother,  who  in  turn  sold  the  boy  to  his  brother-in- 
law  in  another  state.  When  Isabella  heard  that 
her  boy  had  been  sold  and  sent  away,  she  started 


SOJOURNER  TRUTH  [  213 

out  to  find  the  guilty  party  and,  if  possible,  to 
make  him  return  her  boy. 

•  She  went  to  her  former  mistress  and  others  con 
cerned  in  the  sale,  saying,  "I'll  have  my  child 
again".  Finally  she  went  to  her  former  master, 
who  told  her  to  go  to  the  Quakers  and  they  would 
assist  her.  Straightway  she  went  to  the  home  of 
a  Quaker  family.  They  welcomed  her  and  placed 
her  in  a  room  where  there  was  a  high,  clean,  white 
bed.  In  all  of  her  twenty-seven  years  she  had 
never  slept  in  a  bed.  She  sat  for  a  long  time  look 
ing  at  the  bed  and  getting  ready  to  crawl  under  it. 
However,  she  finally  crawled  gently  up  into  the 
bed  and  soon  fell  asleep.  The  next  morning,  her 
Quaker  friends  took  her  nearly  to  town  and  gave 
her  directions  for  reaching  the  court-house,  where 
she  made  complaint  to  the  grand  jury. 

On  reaching  the  court-house,  she  entered. 
Thinking  that  the  first  fine-looking  man  she  saw 
was  the  grand  jury,  she  began  to  complain  to 
him  about  her  boy.  He  listened  for  a  few  moments 
and  then  told  her  that  there  was  no  grand  jury 
there ;  she  must  go  upstairs.  When  she  had  made 
her  way  upstairs  through  the  crowd,  she  again 
went  to  the  grandest-looking  man  she  saw.  Im 
mediately  she  began  to  tell  him  that  she  came  to 
make  her  complaint  to  the  grand  jury.  Greatly 


214  ] 


he  asked  what  her  complaint  was.  As 
soon  as  die  began  in  her  impressive  way  to  tell  her 
story,  he  said,  pointing  to  a  certain  door.  "This 
is  no  place  to  enter  a  complaint  —  go  in  there". 

She  went  in,  and  finding  the  grand  jurors  sit 
ting;  began  to  tell  her  story.  One  of  the  jurors 
asked  if  she  could  swear  that  was  her  be 

"Yes",  Ac  answered,  "I  swear  it's  my  son." 
"Stop,  stopr  said  the  lawyer,  "you  must  swear 
by  this  Bible."  Taking  the  Bible,  she  placed  it  to 
her  Hps  and  began  to  swear  it  was  her  chflcL  The 
clerks  in  the  office  burst  into  an  uproar  of  laugh- 
.    ^  ~  ric  ~  ~  UQDS  seemed  to   disturb    I  sa 


After  understanding  that  die  was  simply  to  make 
a  pledge  of  her  truthfulness  with  her  hand  upon 

:r/r  Bihle.  she  i.i  5  :  and  hurried  away.  With  a 
of  paper,  called  a  writ,  in  her  hand  for  the 
of  the  man  who  had  sent  her  boy  away, 
die  trotted  to  the  constable  eight  miles  off.  Al- 

D 

though  the  constable  by  mistake  served  the  writ 
on  the  wrong  brother,  it  had  its  effect.  The  brother 
who  had  sold  the  boy  went  in  hiding  until  he  could 
dip  away  to  get  the  boy. 

The  distance  was  great  and  trarel  in  those  days 
was  slow.  Autumn  days  came  and  went  and  then 
winter,  and  finally  spring  came  before  the  man 
arrived  with  the  boy.  Onring  all  these  months 


SOJOITEXEB  TKUTH  [  215 

Isabella  kept  going  about  seeing  this  friend 
and  that  one,  until  she  said  she  was  afraid  that  she 
had  worried  all  of  her  friends,  even  God  himself. 
nearly  to  death. 

The  news  finally  reached  her  that  her  boy  had 
come,  but  that  he  denied  having  any  mother. 
When  she  reached  the  place  where  her  boy  Peter 
was,  he  cried  aloud  against  this  tall,  dark,  bony 
woman  with  a  white  turban  on  her  head.  He  knelt 
down  and  begged  with  tears  not  to  be  taken  from 
his  kind  master.  When  some  one  asked  him  about 
the  bad  scar  on  his  forehead,  he  said,  "Master's 
horse  hove  me  there".  And  then  some  one  else 
asked  about  the  scar  on  his  cheek.  He  said.  "That 
was  done  by  running  against  Master's  carriage". 
As  he  answered  both  of  these  questions,  he  looked 
wistfully  at  his  master,  as  much  as  to  say,  "If  they 
are  falsehoods,  you  bade  me  say  them :  may  they 
be  satisfactory  to  you,  at  least". 

Kind  words  and  candies  at  last  quieted  Peter 
and  he  said,  looking  at  his  mother.  "Well,  you  do 
look  like  my  mother  used  to  look".  They  embraced 
each  oilier  and  went  their  way. 

After  Isabella  and  Peter  had  been  free  one 
year  they  went  to  Xew  York  City  to  live. 
Peter  was  growing  tall  and  rather  nice-look 
ing,  in  spite  of  his  hard  life.  He  often  attracted 


216  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

attention  by  his  winsome  way;  but  tempted 
by  the  gay  life  of  New  York  City,  he  was  soon 
drawn  into  a  circle  of  boys  whose  sole  object 
was  to  have  a  good  time.  He  began  to  con 
ceal  from  his  mother  those  things  of  which  he 
thought  she  would  not  approve.  For  example, 
for  two  years  he  was  known  among  his  worthless 
companions  as  Peter  Williams,  without  his  moth 
er's  knowledge  of  his  new  name.  However,  a 
friend  of  Isabella's,  much  pleased  with  Peter's 
appearance  and  bright  mind,  said  that  Peter 
should  have  an  education  if  any  one  else  should. 
Believing  this,  she  paid  ten  dollars  as  tuition  for 
him  to  enter  a  navigation  school.  Instead  of  at 
tending  school,  Peter  went  irregularly,  making 
some  reasonable  excuse  each  time  to  his  teacher  for 
not  being  able  to  attend  school  that  day.  Isabella 
and  her  friend,  believing  that  Peter  was  doing 
well  in  school,  secured  for  him  a  part-time  job  as 
coachman.  Peter  soon  sold  the  livery  and  other 
things  belonging  to  his  employer. 

He  became  involved  in  one  difficulty  after  an 
other,  but  each  time  Isabella  managed  to  get  him 
out.  Each  time  she  tried  to  reason  with  Peter. 
He  would  always  confess,  saying  that  he  never 
intended  to  do  wrong,  but  had  been  led  along  little 
by  little  until  before  he  knew  it,  he  was  in  serious 


SOJOUBNEK  TRUTH  [217 

trouble.  At  last,  seeing  no  improvement  in  her 
son,  Isabella  made  up  her  mind  to  let  him  go  un 
assisted  in  his  difficulties.  Finally,  he  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  police,  who  sent  for  Mr.  Peter 
Williams,  a  barber.  Mr.  Williams's  interest  was 
so  aroused  by  the  boy's  having  his  name,  that  he 
paid  the  fine  on  Peter's  promise  to  leave  New 
York  City  on  a  vessel  sailing  within  a  week. 

Mr.  Williams  seemed  surprised  to  find  that  the 
boy  had  such  a  mother  as  Isabella.  Isabella  said 
that  she  was  afraid  lest  her  son  would  deceive  Mr. 
Williams  and  be  missing  when  the  vessel  sailed. 
However,  Peter  sailed ;  though  for  over  a  month 
Isabella  lived  in  fear  of  seeing  him  emerge  from 
some  by-street  in  New  York  City.  More  than 
a  year  had  passed  when  Isabella  received  the 
following  letter: 

My  dear  and  beloved  Mother: 

I  take  this  opportunity  to  write  to  you  and  inform  you 
that  I  am  well,  and  in  hopes  of  finding  you  the  same.  I  got 
on  board  the  same  unlucky  ship  "Done  of  Nantucket".  I 
am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  been  punished  once  severely  by 
shoving  my  head  in  the  fire  for  other  folks.  We  have  had 
bad  luck,  but  in  hopes  of  having  better.  We  have  about  230 
on  board,  but  in  hopes,  if  we  do  have  good  luck,  that  my 
parents  will  receive  me  with  thanks. 

I  would  like  to  know  how  my  sisters  are.  Do  my  cousins 
live  in  New  York  yet?  Have  you  received  my  letter?  If 
not,  inquire  of  Mr.  Peirce  Whitings.  I  wish  you  would 
write  me  an  answer  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  your  only 


218  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

son,  that  is  so  far  from  home,  in  the  wide,  briny  ocean.  I 
have  seen  more  of  the  world  than  I  ever  expected,  and  if  I 
ever  return  home  safe,  I  will  tell  you  all  my  troubles  and 
hardships.  Mother,  I  hope  you  do  not  forget  me,  your 
dear  and  only  son.  I  should  like  to  know  how  Sophia  and 
Betsy  and  Hannah  are.  I  hope  you  all  will  forgive  me  for 
all  that  I  have  done.  Your  son, 

PETER  VAN  WAGNER. 

Isabella's  last  annual  letter  from  Peter  said 
that  if  he  did  not  do  well,  she  need  not  expect  him 
home  in  five  years.  During  the  five  years  of  ex 
pectant  waiting,  Isabella  joined  Zion's  Church, 
in  Church  Street,  New  York  City,  where  she  wor 
shiped  for  some  time.  One  Sunday  morning,  after 
services,  a  tall,  well-dressed  woman  came  up 
and  made  herself  known  to  Isabella  as  her  sister 
Sophia  who  had  just  moved  to  New  York  City. 
She  also  brought  to  meet  Isabella  her  brother 
Michael,  whom  Isabella  had  never  seen.  The 
brother  Michael  told  Isabella  that  her  sister 
Nancy,  who  had  been  for  many  years  a  member 
of  Zion  Church,  had  just  passed  away.  As  he  de 
scribed  his  sister  Nancy's  features,  her  manner, 
her  dress,  and  named  her  class  leader,  Isabella 
stood  shaking  as  though  she  would  fall  to  the 
floor.  She  caught  hold  of  the  back  of  a  bench,  ex 
claiming,  "I  knelt  at  the  altar  with  her.  I  took 
the  Lord's  Supper  with  her.  I  shook  hands  with 


SOJOURNER  TRUTH  [  219 

her!  Was  that  my  sister  who  was  taken  away 
one  snowy  morning  in  the  sleigh?  Are  you  my 
brother  Michael  who  was  taken  away  in  the  sleigh- 
box?"  The  three  of  them  stood  there  mingling 
their  tears  each  with  the  other. 

While  Isabella  was  a  member  of  Zion  Church 
she  often  visited  the  pavement  meetings  of  a  band 
of  religious  fanatics.  These  fanatics  were  in  the 
habit  of  fasting  every  Friday  and  sometimes  as 
long  as  two  nights  and  three  days,  refusing  even  a 
cup  of  cold  water.  Isabella  asked  one  of  the  leaders 
why  he  fasted.  He  said  that  fasting  gave  him 
great  light  on  the  things  of  God.  "Well",  said 
Isabella,  "if  fasting  will  give  light  inwardly  and 
spiritually,  I  need  it  as  much  as  anybody,  and 
I'll  fast  too".  She  further  said,  "If  such  a  good 
man  as  that  needs  to  fast  two  nights  and  three 
days,  then  I  certainly  ought  to  fast  more.  I  will 
fast  three  nights  and  three  days". 

She  fasted  three  nights  and  three  days,  not 
drinking  even  so  much  as  a  drop  of  water.  The 
fourth  morning  when  she  arose  and  tried  to  stand, 
she  fell  to  the  floor.  Feeling  very  empty  and  light, 
she  crawled  to  the  pantry,  but  fearing,  as  she  says, 
that  she  might  now  offend  God  by  eating  too 
much,  she  compelled  herself  to  eat  dry  bread  and 
drink  water.  Before  she  felt  strong  enough  to 


220  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

walk  she  had  eaten  a  six-penny  loaf  of  bread.  She 
says  that  she  did  get  light,  but  it  was  all  in  her 
body  and  none  in  her  mind. 

During  Isabella's  first  years  in  New  York  City, 
she  was  always  trying  to  place  a  little  money  from 
time  to  time  in  the  savings  bank  for  the  rainy 
day.  Influenced  by  her  fanatic  friends,  she  drew 
her  money  from  the  savings  bank  and  placed  it 
in  their  common  treasury,  or  kingdom,  as  they 
called  it,  not  even  asking  about  interest  or  taking 
account  of  what  she  had  put  in.  In  later  years 
Isabella  often  said  in  her  witty  way,  "The  only 
thing  I  recovered  from  the  wreck  of  that  common 
kingdom  was  a  few  pieces  of  old  furniture". 

With  all  of  her  savings  gone,  she  started  anew, 
working  early  and  late,  to  lay  aside  enough  to  buy 
a  home  for  herself  in  her  advanced  age.  If  the 
people  in  the  home  where  she  worked  gave  her 
fifty  cents  to  hire  a  poor  man  to  clean  away  the 
snow,  she  arose  early,  performed  the  task  herself 
and  pocketed  the  money.  She  began  to  feel  that 
she,  too,  was  robbing  the  poor  in  her  selfish 
grasping. 

She  talked  much  about  this.  It  seemed  to  prey 
on  her  mind.  Finally  she  decided  to  leave  New 
York  City  and  travel  east  and  lecture.  With  the 
secret  locked  in  her  own  bosom,  she  made  ready 


SOJOUKNER  TRUTH  [  221 

for  leaving  by  placing  a  few  articles  of  clothing 
in  a  pillow-case.  About  an  hour  before  starting 
but,  she  went  to  the  woman  at  whose  house  she 
was  staying  and  said,  "My  name  is  no  longer 
Isabella,  but  'Sojourner'.  I  am  going  east.  The 
spirit  calls  me  there,  and  I  must  go". 

On  the  morning  of  June  1,  1843,  Sojourner, 
now  forty-three  years  old,  set  out  from  New  York 
City  with  her  pillow-case  in  one  hand,  a  little 
basket  of  provisions  in  the  other  and  two  York 
shillings  in  her  purse.  As  she  crossed  over  to 
Brooklyn,  she  says  she  thought  of  Lot's  wife,  and, 
wishing  to  avoid  her  fate,  was  determined  not  to 
look  back  until  New  York  City  was  far  in  the 
distance.  When  night  came  on  she  sought  for  a 
lodging  place  wherever  she  could  find  one. 

It  was  her  plan,  as  she  explained,  when  she  be 
came  weary  of  travel  and  needed  rest,  to  stop  at 
some  home  for  a  few  days.  The  very  first  time 
she  felt  the  need  of  rest  badly,  as  she  walked  along 
the  road,  a  man  addressed  her,  asking  if  she  were 
looking  for  work.  "Sir",  she  said  in  her  queenly 
way,  "that's  not  the  object  of  my  travels,  but  if 
you  need  me  I  can  help  you  out  for  a  few  days". 
She  went  in  and  worked  so  faithfully  that  the  man 
offered  her  at  the  time  of  her  departure  what 
seemed  to  her  a  large  sum  of  money.  Refusing  all 


222  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

except  two  or  three  York  shillings  which  she  con 
sidered  sufficient  to  take  her  on  her  mission,  she 
went  her  way. 

After  she  had  traveled  far  out  on  Long  Island, 
one  evening,  in  her  search  for  a  night's  lodging, 
she  met  two  Indians  who  took  her  for  an  acquaint 
ance.  They  asked  if  she  were  alone.  Not  knowing 
anything  at  all  about  them,  she  replied,  "No,  not 
exactly",  and  kept  going. 

In  her  search  for  lodging  places,  Sojourner 
Truth  occasionally  went  into  dance-halls  and 
hovels  of  the  lowest  kind.  Nevertheless,  she  trav 
eled  on  foot  lecturing  in  many  New  York  and 
Connecticut  towns.  Then  led,  as  she  claimed,  by 
the  spirit,  she  continued  her  journey  to  North 
ampton,  Massachusetts. 

One  night,  while  she  was  living  at  Northamp 
ton,  she  attended  a  camp-meeting  which  was  being 
held  in  the  open  air.  Those  attending  the  meeting 
slept  in  tents.  A  company  of  boys  present  said 
they  were  going  to  set  fire  to  all  the  tents.  Those 
in  charge  of  the  meeting  sent  for  the  sheriff  to 
arrest  the  ring-leaders.  Sojourner  Truth  rushed 
to  hide  in  one  corner  of  a  tent.  She  said,  "Shall  I 
run  away  and  hide  from  the  devil?  Me  a  servant 
of  the  Living  God?  Have  I  not  faith  enough  to 
go  out  and  quell  that  mob  when  I  know  it  is  writ- 


SOJOURNER  TRUTH  [  223 

ten  one  shall  chase  a  thousand  and  two  put  ten 
thousand  to  flight?"  She  walked  out  from  her 
hiding-place,  under  the  moonlight,  to  the  top  of 
a  small  rise  of  ground  and  began  to  sing: 

It  was  early  in  the  morning — it  was  early  in  the  morning, 

Just  at  the  break  of  day — 
When  He  rose — when  He  rose — when  He  rose — 

And  went  to  heaven  on  a  cloud. 

The  boys  with  their  sticks  and  clubs  made  a 
rush  towards  her  and  crowded  around  her.  She 
stopped  singing  and  after  a  few  minutes  asked  in 
a  gentle  but  firm  tone,  "Why  do  you  come  about 
me  with  clubs  and  sticks?  I  am  not  doing  harm  to 
any  one". 

Many  of  them  said,  "We  are  not  going  to  hurt 
you,  old  woman.  We  came  to  hear  you  sing". 

"Sing  to  us",  another  cried. 

"Tell  us  your  experience",  said  another. 

"You  stand  and  smoke  so  near  me,  I  can't  sing 
or  talk",  she  answered.  They  immediately  re 
moved  their  cigarettes  and  cigars.  At  their  sug 
gestion  and  with  their  help,  she  climbed  upon  a 
wagon  nearby  and  spoke  and  sang  for  nearly  an 
hour.  Upon  asking  the  third  time  if  they  would  go 
away  and  act  like  men,  all  yelled  out,  "Yes,  yes!" 

She  traveled  a  great  deal,  holding  many  meet 
ings  for  the  sake  of  the  freedom  of  her  people. 


224  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Imagine  this  big,  bony,  black  woman,  six  feet 
tall,  walking  along  the  highway  or  riding  along 
with  a  small  clay  pipe  in  her  mouth  from  which 
rolled  columns  of  smoke.  One  evening  she  was 
riding  in  the  State  of  Iowa  on  a  railroad  train. 
A  man  sitting  in  a  seat  just  behind  her  saw  her 
smoking  and  said  to  her,  "Do  you  believe  in  the 
Bible?" 

"I  do",  she  replied. 

"Well,  then",  said  he,  "what  can  be  more  filthy 
than  the  breath  of  a  smoker?  Doesn't  the  Bible 
say  no  unclean  thing  shall  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven?" 

"Yes,  child",  she  answered,  "but  when  I  go  to 
heaven  I  expect  to  leave  my  breath  behind  me". 

Even  before  the  Civil  War,  she  held  meetings 
in  many  states.  At  the  close  of  a  meeting  in 
Ohio  one  evening,  a  man  came  up  to  her  and  said, 
"Old  woman,  do  you  think  that  your  talk  about 
slavery  does  any  good?  Do  you  suppose  people 
care  what  you  say?  I  don't  care  any  more  for 
your  talk  than  I  do  for  the  bite  of  a  flea". 

"Perhaps  not",  she  answered,  "but  the  Lord 
willing,  I'll  keep  you  a-scratching." 

Once  when  she  was  out  on  a  speaking  tour  she 
met  a  man  who  asked,  "What  business  are  you 
following  now?" 


SOJOURNER  TRUTH  [  225 

She  quickly  replied,  "Years  ago  when  I  lived 
in  New  York  City  my  occupation  was  scouring 
brass  door-knobs,  but  now  I  go  about  scouring 
copper-heads". 

She  could  neither  read  nor  write.  She  seemed 
to  know,  however,  something  about  many  of  the 
big  subjects  of  the  day,  such  as  "Suffrage",  "Tem 
perance"  and  "Abolition".  She  even  attended  the 
first  big  woman's  suffrage  convention,  held  in 
Ohio.  This  convention  was  held  in  a  church.  So- 
journer  Truth  marched  in  like  a  queen  and  sat  on 
the  pulpit  steps.  In  those  days  men  thought 
women  should  not  vote.  The  men  and  even  the 
boys  were  laughing  at  the  women  and  teasing 
them  for  holding  such  a  meeting. 

Old  "Sojourner  Truth"  rose  and  walked  out  in 
front  of  the  speakers'  table.  She  took  off  her  sun- 
bonnet  and  laid  it  at  her  feet.  Many  of  the  women 
said,  "Don't  let  that  old  woman  speak.  She  will 
do  us  harm". 

But  the  presiding  officer  rapped  on  the  table 
for  order  and  "Sojourner  Truth"  began  by 
saying,  "Well,  children,  where  there  is  so  much 
racket  there  must  be  something  out  of  kilter". 
She  had  something  sharp  to  say  in  reply  to  every 
minister  who  had  spoken.  One  minister  had  said 
that  women  should  not  vote  because  Eve  had  acted 


226  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

so  badly.  To  him  she  said,  "If  the  first  woman 
God  ever  made  was  strong  enough  to  turn  the 
world  upside  down,  all  alone,  these  together 
[glancing  around  over  all  the  women]  ought  to 
be  able  to  turn  it  right  side  up  again". 

She  took  her  seat  in  the  midst  of  great  applause. 
Many  women  rushed  to  her,  shook  her  hand  and 
said,  "You  have  saved  the  day". 

One  day  while  Lincoln  was  President  of  the 
United  States,  Sojourner,  old  and  bent,  walked 
into  the  marble  room  of  the  Senate  Chamber.  It 
was  an  hour  not  soon  to  be  forgotten.  Senators 
rose  and  shook  her  hand.  They  asked  her  to  speak. 
As  she  spoke,  some  sat  with  tears  in  their  eyes. 
When  she  had  finished  they  shook  her  hand  again, 
gave  her  a  purse  and  bade  her  good-bye.  A  Wash 
ington  Sunday  paper  had  a  long  article  about 
Sojourner  Truth's  speaking  to  the  United  States 
Senators.  This  article  said:  "Sojourner  Truth 
has  had  a  marvelously  strange  life.  The  leaven  of 
love  must  be  working  in  the  hearts  of  all  people". 

In  her  old  age  and  suffering,  Sojourner  Truth 
was  supported  by  a  friend.  The  end  came  at 
Battle  Creek,  Michigan,  November  26,  1883. 


CRISPUS  ATTUCKS 


Wild*  ft*  WilKiNSON. 
CRISPUS  ATTUCKS  SPOKE  AGAINST  THE  BRITISH  SOLDIERS. 


Chapter  XIII 

CRISPUS  ATTUCKS 
1723-1770 

ATTUCKS  was  born  many  years 
V_>4  ago,  at  some  place,  but  nobody  in  the  world 
seems  to  know  just  where.  And  no  one  seems  to 
know  anything  at  all  about  him,  or  about  his 
people,  except  that  he  was  a  sailor.  He  received 
public  notice  just  twice  in  his  lifetime.  The  first 
time  it  was  through  an  advertisement  in  a  Boston 
newspaper,  which  came  out  on  the  second  of 
October,  1750.  The  advertisement  read: 

Ran  away  from  his  master,  William  Brown  of  Framing- 
ham,  on  the  30th  of  September,  last,  a  Molatto-Fellow, 
about  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  named  Crispus,  6  feet  2 
inches  high,  short  curl'd  hair,  his  knees  nearer  together 
than  common;  had  on  a  light  color'd  Bearskin  Coat,  plain 
brown  Fustain  Jacket,  or  brown  all-wool  one,  new  Buck 
skin  Breeches,  blue  yarn  stockings,  and  a  checked  woolen 
shirt. 

Whoever  shall  take  up  said  Runaway,  and  convey  him  to 
his  above  said  Master,  shall  have  ten  pounds,  Old  Tenor 
Reward,  and  all  necessary  charges  paid. 

Boston,  Oct.  2,  1750. 

The  name  of  Crispus  Attucks  appeared  in  the 
Boston  papers  just  once  more,  and  that  was 

[229  ] 


230  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

twenty  years  later,  at  the  time  of  the  Boston  Mas 
sacre.  In  those  days  Crispus  Attucks  knew  noth 
ing  about  the  United  States,  and  nobody  else  did, 
for  there  were  no  United  States.  There  were  only 
the  American  colonies  of  Great  Britain. 

Because  Great  Britain  knew  that  these  colonies 
were  angry  with  her,  she  sent  several  regiments 
of  soldiers  over  to  Boston,  Massachusetts.  These 
soldiers  were  to  make  the  colonies  obey  England. 
Every  one  in  Boston  seemed  to  be  speaking 
against  these  British  soldiers. 

Finally  a  group  of  men  led  by  Crispus  Attucks 
began  to  pelt  them  with  missiles  and  chunks  of 
ice,  and  to  dare  them  to  fire  their  guns,  but  the 
British  soldiers  fired.  Shells  from  their  guns 
struck  Crispus  Attucks  and  three  other  men. 
Crispus  Attucks  and  one  of  the  men,  by  the  name 
of  Caldwell,  fell  dead.  The  other  two  were  mor 
tally  wounded. 

The  whole  city  of  Boston  was  in  an  uproar. 
Bells  were  ringing  everywhere,  and  people  were 
running  here  and  there  as  if  they  were  crazy.  In 
the  midst  of  all  of  this  excitement,  the  bodies  of 
Crispus  Attucks  and  Caldwell  were  taken  into 
Faneuil  Hall.  It  is  said  that  their  faces  were 
looked  upon  by  the  largest  gathering  of  people 


CRISPUS  ATTUCKS  [  231 

ever  assembled  there.  One  of  the  men  who  fell 
was  buried  from  his  mother's  home.  Another  was 
'buried  from  his  brother's  home,  but  Attucks  and 
Caldwell,  being  strangers  in  the  city,  were  buried 
from  Faneuil  Hall. 

The  four  hearses  bearing  the  bodies  of  the  dead 
men  met  in  King  Street.  From  there  the  funeral 
procession  moved  in  columns  six  deep.  There  was 
an  extended  line  of  carriages  containing  the  first 
citizens  of  Boston.  The  four  bodies  were  buried 
in  one  grave,  and  over  the  grave  was  placed  a 
stone  with  this  inscription : 

Long  as  in  Freedom's  cause  the  wise  contend, 
Dear  to  your  Country  shall  your  fame  extend; 
While  to  the  world  the  lettered  stone  shall  tell 
Where  Caldwell,  Attucks,  Gray  and  Maverick  fell. 

Crispus  Attucks  is  sometimes  called  a  madcap, 
because  he  led  the  Boston  Massacre  charge,  which 
was  the  beginning  of  the  Revolutionary  War. 
He  had  apparently  been  around  Boston  for  some 
years  and  had  listened  to  the  fiery  speeches  of 
some  of  the  orators  of  that  day. 

A  memorial  shaft  was  later  erected  on  Bos 
ton  Common  to  the  memory  of  these  men,  and  a 
memorial  tablet  was  placed  on  State  Street  in 
Boston. 


CRISPITS  ATTUCKS 


•23-2  ] 


£MN|  at  ike  D^Ktmtitm  of  ike  Crupu  Aitmck*  Mi 
m  B^tom,  November  14,  1888 

Where  shall  we  seek  for  a  hero,  and  where  shall  we  find  a 

story  ? 

Oar  laurels  are  wreathed  for  conquest,  oar  songs  for  corn- 


But  we  honor  a  shrine  unfinished,  a  column  uncapped  with 


If  we  sing  the  deed  that  was  sown  like  seed  when  Crispus 
Attucks 


Shall  we  take  for  a  sign  this  Negro-slare  with  unfamiliar 

With  his  poor  companions,  ™~*l*««  too.  till  their  lives 

leaped  forth  in  lame? 

Yea,  sorely,  the  verdict  is  not  for  us  to  render  or  deny ; 
We  emu  only  interpret  the  symbol;  God  chose  these  men 

to,'i*  _ 
OBC 

As  teachers  and  types,  that  to  humble  lives  may  chief 

award  be  made; 
That  from  lowly  ones,  and  rejected  stones,  the  temple's 

base  is  !••!! 

When  the  ballets  leaped  from  the  British  guns,  no  chance 

decreed  their  aim: 
Men  see  what  the  royal  hirelings  saw — a  multitude  and  a 

Bui  beyond  the  •amr,  a  mystery;  five  dying  men  in  the 
street, 

While  the  streams  of  several  races  in  the  well  of  a  nation 
•I 


CEISPU8  ATTUCKS 


O,  blood  of  the  people!  changeless  tide,  through  century, 
creed  and  race! 

Still  one  as  the  sweet  salt  sea  is  one,  though  tempered  by 
sun  and  place; 

The  same  in  the  ocean  currents,  and  the  same  in  the  shel 
tered  seas; 

Forever  the  fountain  of  common  hopes  and  kindly  sympa 
thies  ; 

Indian  and  Negro,  Saxon  and  Celt,  Teuton  and  Latin  and 
Gaul — 

Mere   surface   shadow   and   sunshine;  while  the  sounding 
unifies  all ! 

One  love,  one  hope,  one  duty  theirs!    No  matter  the  til 
or  ken, 

There  never  was  separate  heart-beat  in  all  the  races  of 


But  alien  is  one — of  class,  not  race — he  has  drawn  the  line 

for  himself ; 
His  roots  drink  life  from  inhuman  soil,  from  garbage  of 

pomp  and  pelf; 
His  heart  beats  not  with  the  common  beat,  he  has  changed 

his  life-stream's  hue; 
He  deems  his  flesh  to  be  finer  flesh,  he  boasts  that  his 

blood  is  blue: 

Patrician,  aristocrat,  tory — whatever  his  age  or  name, 
To  the  people's  rights  and  liberties,  a  traitor  ever  the  same. 
The  natural  crowd  is  a  mob  to  him,  their  prayer  a  vulgar 

rhyme; 
The  freeman's  speech  is  sedition,  and  the  patriot's  deed  a 

crime. 

Wherever  the  race,  the  law,  the  land — whatever  the  time, 

or  throne, 
The  tory  is  always  a  traitor  to  every  class  but  his  own. 


234  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Thank  God  for  a  land  where  pride  is  clipped,  where  arro 
gance  stalks  apart; 

Where  law  and  song  and  loathing  of  wrong  are  words  of 
the  common  heart; 

Where  the  masses  honor  straightforward  strength,  and 
know,  when  veins  are  bled, 

That  the  bluest  blood  is  putrid  blood — that  the  people's 
blood  is  red ! 

And  honor  to  Crispus  Attucks,  who  was  leader  and  voice 

that  day; 
The  first  to  defy,  and  the  first  to  die,  with  Maverick,  Carr, 

and  Gray. 
Call  it  riot  or  revolution,  his  hand  first  clenched  at  the 

crown ; 
His  feet  were  the  first  in  perilous  place  to  pull  the  king's 

flag  down; 
His  breast  was  the  first  one  rent  apart  that  liberty's  stream 

might  flow; 
For  our  freedom  now  and  forever,  his  head  was  the  first 

laid  low. 

— John  Boyle  O'Reilly. 


ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 


Chapter  XIV 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 

PLAYWRIGHT  AND  NOVELIST 
1802-1870 

A  LEXANDRE  DUMAS  was  the  son  of  a 

±\.  French  general.  Once  Alexandre  went  to 
Paris  with  his  father  to  see  a  friend,  and  while 
talking  with  this  friend,  the  general  said,  pointing 
to  Alexandre,  "After  I  am  dead,  I  want  you  to 
help  my  boy". 

His  friend  replied,  "Oh,  you  will  outlive  me". 

The  general,  however,  did  not  live  long  after 
this.  He  died  when  Alexandre  was  only  four 
years  old.  Then  this  rosy-cheeked,  curly-headed 
boy  had  no  one  to  help  him  but  his  poor  mother, 
whom  he  kept  busy.  One  moment  he  was  pointing 
to  letters  here  and  there  and  asking  about  them; 
the  next  moment,  he  was  begging  for  a  story; 
and  the  next  moment,  he  was  into  something  else. 
It  was  not  long  before  this  busy  boy  was  putting 
words  together  and  beginning  to  read,  but  his 
mother  was  so  poor  that  he  could  not  go  to  school 
until  he  was  ten  years  old. 

The  first  day  he  went  to  school,  he  wore  a  suit 
of  clothes  which  his  mother  had  made  out  of  a 
riding  coat  once  worn  by  his  father.  His  school- 

[237] 


238  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

mates  hustled  him  around  and  even  squirted  water 
on  him  until  his  new  suit  was  all  wet.  He  sat 
down  and  cried  bitterly.  Suddenly,  the  teacher 
appeared  on  the  scene.  All  the  pupils  gathered 
around  the  weeping  boy  in  seeming  real  surprise, 
saying,  "Why  is  he  crying;  what  is  the  matter 
with  him?" 

The  teacher  made  his  way  to  the  boy,  bent 
down  over  him,  and  asked,  "What  is  the  trouble, 
Alexandre?"  Alexandre  looked  up  and  was  about 
to  open  his  mouth,  when  he  saw  all  the  children 
behind  the  teacher  shaking  their  fists  and  their 
heads  at  him. 

The  teacher  suddenly  turned  around.  All  the 
pupils  were  smiling.  "Tell  me  what  it  is  all  about", 
said  the  teacher. 

"We  can't  make  out",  said  the  pupils,  "he  has 
been  crying  that  way  ever  since  he  came."  Alex 
andre  then  blurted  out  the  whole  story  and  showed 
the  teacher  his  wet  clothes. 

"Very  well",  said  the  teacher,  "I  shall  whip 
every  one  of  you,  and  you  shall  have  no  recess 
today.  March  into  the  room." 

In  the  meantime  the  pupils  cast  fierce  glances 
at  Alexandre  and  called  him  a  spy.  Time  passed 
rapidly,  and  soon  school  was  dismissed.  All  left 
hurriedly,  as  it  seemed,  for  their  homes,  but  just 


ALEXANDRE  DUMAS  [  239 

around  the  corner,  the  fighting  gang  waited  for 
Alexandre.  The  ringleader  laid  off  his  coat  and 
walked  up  to  him  with  his  fists  clenched.  Alex 
andre  drew  back  and  gave  him  a  staggering  blow 
which  knocked  him  flat  to  the  ground.  The  others 
in  the  gang  rolled  up  their  sleeves  and  strutted 
about,  saying  in  French  what  they  would  do. 

This  happened  in  France  more  than  one  hun 
dred  years  ago,  for  Alexandre  Dumas  was  born 
on  the  24th  of  July,  1802.  His  native  town  was 
Cotterets,  forty  miles  from  Paris,  and  twenty- 
one  miles  from  Chateau-Thierry. 

After  his  father  died,  he  often  went  hungry  and 
shabbily  clad,  until  he  was  old  enough  to  work. 
One  day  he  walked  and  walked,  looking  for  a  job, 
but  nothing  seemed  to  turn  up.  Now  that  it  was 
about  time  for  offices  to  close,  he  started  home,  but 
decided  to  try  one  more  place.  He  walked  into  a 
nice-looking  office  and  asked  for  work.  The  head 
man  said,  "Do  you  know  how  to  fold  letters?" 

Dumas  hesitated  a  moment  and  replied,  "I  can 
learn,  sir,  pretty  quickly". 

The  man  then  asked,  "Do  you  know  how  to  get 
to  your  work  on  time?" 

"Yes,  sir!"  said  Dumas. 

"Then  you  may  come  in  tomorrow  morning", 
said  the  man. 


240  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Dumas  hurried  home.  He  rushed  into  the  house 
and  called  his  mother.  His  cheeks  and  his  lips 
were  flushed  like  a  red  rose.  He  said,  "Mother, 
I  am  so  happy.  I  have  an  office  job.  Now  I  can 
help  you,  Mother".  The  evening  passed  joyously, 
and  the  next  morning  he  walked  briskly  to  his 
work. 

All  day  long  he  was  busy  at  the  office,  dusting 
the  furniture,  folding  letters,  sealing  and  mailing 
them,  running  errands  and  taking  care  of  visitors 
who  came  to  the  office.  When  evening  came,  he 
was  very  tired,  but  not  too  tired  to  read  and  study 
a  little. 

Some  of  the  boys  in  the  office  tried  to  tease  him 
about  studying  so  much,  nevertheless  he  kept  on 
working  and  studying.  In  a  few  months,  he  be 
gan  to  tease  them  because  he  had  been  promoted 
to  a  better  job  as  clerk  and  they  remained  in  their 
same  positions.  He  seemed  very  happy  and  kept 
on  reading  and  studying  at  night. 

One  afternoon  while  he  was  reading,  he  saw  the 
following  advertisement,  "Shakespeare's  Ham 
let"  !  At  once  he  was  interested,  for  he  had  read 
about  the  writer  Shakespeare  and  had  read  the 
play  called  "Hamlet". 

"I  must  see  this  play;  but  it  is  given  out  of 
town",  he  said  as  he  read  further.  However,  he 


ALEXANDRE  DUMAS  [  241 

repeated,  "I  must  see  this  play".  He  hurriedly 
put  on  the  best  clothes  he  had,  reached  the  station, 
boarded  the  train,  and  in  forty  minutes  was  in 
the  little  town  where  the  play  was  being  given. 
He  made  his  way  to  the  theatre  at  once  and  fol 
lowed  every  movement  of  the  actors. 

He  said  at  the  close  of  the  performance,  "I 
must  see  a  play  now  in  a  larger  theatre  in  Paris". 

This  determination  to  go  to  a  Paris  theatre  con 
tinued,  until  one  afternoon  he  dressed  in  his  long 
coat,  which  touched  his  heels,  brushed  his  hair, 
which  was  ridiculously  long,  and  set  out  for  Paris. 
Just  as  he  entered  the  theatre,  some  one  cried  out, 
"Oh,  what  a  head!" 

People  began  to  laugh  at  him.  Soon  an 
usher  came  up.  "Tickets",  said  he.  Alexandre 
handed  him  his  ticket.  He  took  it,  looked  at  it 
and  looked  at  Alexandre;  then  he  shook  his 
head.  Alexandre  stood  there,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  the  usher  kept  saying,  "Your  ticket 
is  no  good.  Your  ticket  is  no  good".  Angry  be 
cause  he  had  been  deceived  in  buying  his  ticket, 
Alexandre  Dumas  stood  there  until  the  ushers 
came  and  put  him  out. 

In  spite  of  his  first  night  at  a  Paris  theatre, 
Alexandre  Dumas  seemed  enthusiastic  about  the 
theatre.  He  spent  all  of  his  spare  time  in  writing 


242  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

plays,  which  no  publisher  would  publish.  One 
publisher  said  to  him,  "Get  yourself  a  name  and 
then  I'll  publish  your  books". 

Nevertheless,  he  often  visited  the  theatre  and 
kept  on  studying  and  writing.  Finally,  he  finished 
a  play  which  he  named  "Christine".  One  day, 
although  he  was  just  a  boy  clerk  in  an  office,  he 
had  the  boldness  to  say,  "  'Christine'  will  be  played 
in  the  finest  theatre  in  Paris". 

Soon  after  "Christine"  was  finished,  the  great 
theatre  of  Paris  accepted  it.  On  the  evening  that 
the  first  performance  of  it  was  given,  Alexandre 
Dumas  sat  in  this  fine  Paris  theatre  with  a  cheap 
suit  of  clothes  on,  while  all  around  him  sat  the 
great  actors  of  France  in  their  finery  and  splen 
dor.  The  curtain  rose  on  the  beautiful  scenery. 
The  actors  came  forward,  talking,  making  ges 
tures  and  performing.  The  audience  seemed 
pleased  with  every  act  and  applauded  loudly. 

When  the  performance  was  all  over  and  the 
curtain  had  fallen,  Dumas  ran  home  to  tell  his 
mother  of  this  wonderful  evening.  He  ran  so  fast 
that  he  lost  the  only  copy  of  his  play.  However, 
the  play  was  all  in  his  head  and  so  he  sat  up  that 
night  and  wrote  it  out  again. 

He  set  to  work,  and  in  two  months,  wrote  an 
other  play,  which  he  called  "Henri  III".  Just  as 


ALEXANDRE  DUMAS  [  243 

he  was  about  finishing  this  play,  the  head  man  in 
his  office  said  to  him  one  day,  "Dumas,  you  must 
either  give  all  of  your  time  to  your  office  work  or 
lose  your  job.  I  can't  have  any  theatre  man 
around". 

He  held  his  job,  however,  and  finished  the  play. 
"Henri  III"  was  very  popular.  On  the  evening 
when  a  performance  of  it  was  given,  the  gallery 
of  the  theatre  was  filled  with  princes  and  nobles. 
The  boxes  were  filled  with  ladies  glittering  with 
diamonds.  All  the  writers  of  Paris  were  out. 
Every  seat  in  the  theatre  was  taken  a  week  before 
the  play  was  given. 

While  the  play  was  being  presented,  Dumas 
hurried  away  between  the  acts  to  see  his  mother, 
who  was  very  ill.  The  next  day,  every  one  in  Paris 
was  talking  about  this  brilliant  young  writer. 
The  rich  people  of  Paris  sent  so  many  beautiful 
flowers  to  his  sick  mother  that  they  almost  filled 
the  little  room  where  she  lay.  By  two  o'clock  that 
afternoon,  the  first  copy  of  this  play,  called  the 
manuscript,  had  been  sold  for  $1,164.  Each  per 
formance  of  the  play  brought  him  $1,212.50.  In 
later  years,  he  even  had  a  grand  theatre  of  his  own 
built  for  his  plays. 

In  addition  to  his  plays,  Dumas  wrote  stories. 
One  day  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  story  very 


244  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

quickly.  "Ah,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  keep  at 
this."  He  kept  at  it  until  he  wrote  the  two  great 
stories  called  "The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo"  and 
"The  Three  Musketeers".  He  also  wrote  many 
stories  about  his  grandmother,  who  was  a  native 
African  woman.  In  one  year,  it  is  said  he  pub 
lished  about  forty  books. 

Once  he  promised  to  write  so  many  books  for 
a  certain  company  that  the  company  began  to  look 
into  the  matter,  and  discovered  that  Dumas  was 
hiring  young  writers  to  write  stories,  which  he 
edited  and  changed  to  suit  his  own  style.  Dumas 
was  arrested  and  tried.  The  judge  said,  "Alex- 
andre  Dumas  is  paying  these  writers  for  their 
works  and  is  thus  helping  them.  He  is  so  chang 
ing  their  writings  that  they  sound  like  his  own. 
He  is  not  guilty  of  any  offense".  Many  young 
writers,  apparently  fond  of  him,  spoke  in  his  de 
fense.  His  door  was  hardly  free  for  a  moment 
from  strangers,  who  were  coming  and  going,  ask 
ing  his  opinion  on  their  writings. 

It  is  said  that  he  was  just  about  as  extravagant 
as  he  was  famous.  He  wore  handsome  and  even 
gaudy  clothes,  kept  fine  horses,  and  gave  many 
dinner  parties.  After  some  years  all  this  was 
changed.  He  lost  control  of  his  great  theatre  and 
was  sunk  in  debt. 


ALEXANDRE  DUMAS  [245 

Years  passed  and  little  was  heard  of  his  plays ; 
but  later  they  were  revived.  On  the  same  night, 
three  years  before  his  death,  four  of  his  plays  were 
being  given  in  four  of  the  largest  theatres  in 
Paris.  Again  people  in  the  theatres  were  crying 
out,  "Long  live  Dumas!" 

Even  in  his  old  age,  he  worked  almost  without 
stopping.  While  he  was  in  the  home  of  his  son 
in  Puys,  France,  his  brain  and  his  limbs  became 
so  paralyzed  that  he  died  on  the  fifth  of  December, 
1870.  Two  years  after  his  death,  the  name  of  the 
street  in  Paris  on  which  his  house  stood  was 
changed  to  "Rue  Alexandre  Dumas",  or  Alex 
ander  Dumas  Street,  in  memory  of  him. 

Thirteen  years  after  his  death,  the  French 
people  erected  in  Paris  a  monument  to  his  mem 
ory.  He  is  represented  sitting  with  a  book  in  his 
left  hand  and  a  pen  in  his  right;  in  front  of  the 
pedestal  there  are  three  figures — a  young  woman 
represented  as  reading,  and  two  men,  one  of  them 
in  workman's  garb;  the  idea  being  to  show  how 
popular  he  was  among  all  classes.  At  the  back  of 
the  pedestal,  there  is  a  fine  figure  of  one  dressed 
as  a  musketeer  or  soldier. 

The  citizens  of  his  native  town — Cotterets — 
also  erected  to  his  memory  a  monument  on  Alex 
ander  Dumas  Street. 


PAUL  CUFFE 


PAUL  CUFFE'S  BRIG. 


Chapter  XV 

PAUL  CUFFE 

THE  SAILOR 
1759-1817 

Cuffe  home  at  Westport,  Massachusetts, 
JL  was  always  ringing  with  laughter  and  merri 
ment.  Somebody  in  that  family  of  four  sturdy 
boys,  six  girls,  mother  and  father,  was  ever  ready 
with  a  snappy  joke,  or  a  ghostly  yarn  which 
sometimes  made  even  the  old  folks  afraid  to  go 
to  bed. 

One  night  the  family  was  seated  around  the 
hearth.  Father  Cuffe  began  to  tell  what  he  called 
a  true  story  about  his  native  country.  He  rose  and 
pictured  a  great  boa-constrictor  gliding  into  his 
African  home  and  swallowing  a  little  boy.  As 
he  represented  the  great  open  mouth  of  that  huge 
snake  with  the  boy  slipping  down  its  throat,  one 
of  the  girls  jumped  and  looked  behind  her.  The 
boys  laughed  very  heartily  and  pointed  their  fin 
gers  at  her,  saying,  "You  thought  that  boa-con 
strictor  had  you!"  Mrs.  Cuffe,  who  was  of  Indian 
descent,  attracted  the  family's  attention  just  at 

[249] 


250  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

that  point  by  springing  forth  suddenly  with  a 
war-whoop  and  dance. 

As  soon  as  this  came  to  an  end,  Paul  Cuffe,  the 
youngest  of  the  boys,  began  telling  one  of  his 
whale  stories.  He,  too,  arose  and  described  his 
boat  as  it  rocked  to  and  fro  on  a  stormy  sea.  He 
pictured  his  men  tugging  at  a  great  whale,  which 
suddenly  pulled  one  of  them  overboard.  Just 
then  one  of  Paul's  brothers  gave  a  quick  jerk  on 
Paul's  coat-tail.  Paul  leaped  forward,  looked 
back  and  landed  flat  on  the  floor.  His  sisters  and 
brothers  laughed  and  laughed  until  some  of  them 
said  their  sides  ached. 

Such  evenings  in  the  Cuffe  farmhouse  at  West- 
port  were  common  until  Father  Cuffe  died.  Paul 
was  then  fourteen  years  old.  For  two  years,  he 
and  his  brothers  worked  their  poor  farm  of  one 
hundred  acres  and  thus  supported  their  mother 
and  sisters  as  best  they  could. 

Every  day  spent  in  the  field  seemed  harder  and 
harder  to  Paul.  He  had  made  up  his  mind,  he 
said,  to  try  his  fortune  on  the  sea,  but  dreaded  to 
tell  his  mother.  One  morning  he  lingered  around 
until  there  was  no  one  in  the  house  but  him  and 
his  mother.  "Mother",  he  said,  "I  am  big  for  my 
age,  and  if  I  can  get  a  job  on  a  schooner,  I  can 


PAUL  CUFFE  [251 

earn  a  man's  wages.  I  can  make  it  on  the  sea 
better  than  on  the  land." 

1  His  mother  held  up  both  hands,  saying,  "Paul, 
my  dear  boy,  can't  you  find  something  else  to  do? 
Sailors  are  such  rough  men.  They  drink,  they 
swear,  they  are  reckless". 

"Mother",  said  he,  "I  have  always  longed  to  be  a 
sailor.  Give  me  your  consent."  For  several  days 
there  was  no  laughter  in  the  Cuffe  home.  Paul's 
mother  said  she  feared  he  would  be  swallowed  up 
by  the  angry  waves  or  by  a  whale. 

During  these  days,  Paul  was  as  busy  as  he 
could  be  trying  to  get  a  job  on  a  schooner.  Final 
ly,  he  succeeded  in  hiring  out  as  a  common  hand 
on  a  vessel  leaving  on  a  whaling  expedition  for  the 
Bay  of  Mexico.  His  mother  was  sure  now  that 
Paul  would  never  return  alive,  so  she  gave  him  a 
small  Bible  and  her  blessing.  He  kissed  her  good 
bye,  pressed  her  hand  and  assured  her  that  he 
would  remain  a  good  boy. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  everything 
was  in  readiness  for  the  start.  The  wind  was  favor 
able.  The  skipper  was  on  board.  Every  sailor  was 
busy  making  sail  or  getting  up  the  heavy  anchor. 
At  length  the  schooner  glided  away  from  the 
shore. 

For  a  time,  Paul  and  the  rest  of  the  hands 


252  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

were  busy  coiling  lines,  stowing  away  odds  and 
ends  and  making  the  vessel  comfortable.  As  soon 
as  Paul  had  a  few  spare  moments  he  filled  a  small 
keg  with  fresh  water  and  put  several  dozen  ship- 
biscuits  into  a  box,  around  which  he  wrapped  an 
old  oilskin  jacket.  One  of  the  boys  on  board 
laughed  at  him  and  said  in  loud  tones,  "Are  you 
afraid  of  being  lost  in  a  fog?  Boy,  your  mamma's 
apron  strings  are  many  miles  away.  You  should 
have  been  tied  to  them  instead  of  being  on  a  boat." 

One  of  Paul's  friends  started  to  answer  back, 
but  Paul  said,  "Let  him  alone.  It  will  make  him 
feel  worse  not  to  be  noticed  at  all". 

The  schooner  tugged  away  until  the  end  of  the 
journey  was  finally  reached.  The  trip  was  excit 
ing  to  say  the  least;  and  their  return  trip  was 
equally  exciting.  They  had  been  gone  for  some 
weeks.  In  those  days  vessels  traveled  only  about 
seven  knots  an  hour.  Paul  had  just  a  few  hours 
at  home  with  his  mother  before  setting  out  on  a 
trip  to  the  West  Indies.  At  the  end  of  this  trip, 
he  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  a  full-fledged  sailor. 
It  had  taken  him  only  two  weeks  to  get  sufficient 
experience  in  navigation  to  command  a  vessel.  He 
went  out  on  a  third  voyage,  but  the  Revolutionary 
War  broke  out.  His  ship  was  run  down  and  cap- 


PAUL  CUFFE  [  253 

tured  by  a  British  ship,  and  he  was  held  as  a  pris 
oner  for  three  months. 

1  After  his  release,  Cuffe  had  to  give  up  the  sea 
for  two  years.  He  visited  the  Island  of  Cutty- 
hunk,  near  New  Bedford,  where  he  was  born. 
Then  he  returned  to  his  home  at  Westport, 
worked  on  the  farm  and  gave  much  of  his  time  to 
the  betterment  of  his  people.  He  was  not  yet 
twenty  years  old,  but  he  and  his  brother  drew  up 
a  petition  and  presented  it  to  the  Massachusetts 
Legislature.  This  petition  asked  that  all  free 
people  of  Massachusetts  be  given  the  full  rights 
of  citizens.  The  Massachusetts  Legislature  care 
fully  considered  this  respectful  petition.  Soon 
afterward  it  passed  an  act  granting  to  all  free 
people,  irrespective  of  color,  the  full  privileges  of 
citizens. 

Cuffe  was  busy  these  two  years  and  yet  his  old 
longing  for  business  and  for  the  sea,  he  said,  kept 
stealing  over  him.  He  laid  before  his  brother, 
David,  a  plan  for  trading  with  the  people  of  Con 
necticut.  His  brother  agreed  to  the  plan.  They 
built  an  open  boat  and  put  out  to  sea,  but  his 
brother's  fears  so  increased  that  he  resolved  to 
turn  back.  Paul  finally  submitted  and  returned 
home. 

He  worked  a  while  for  more  materials  and 


254  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

again  put  out  to  sea,  but  soon  lost  all  he  had.  He 
went  home  and  set  himself  to  the  task  of  making 
a  boat  from  keel  to  gunwale.  It  was  without  a 
deck,  but  Paul  had  been  on  whaling  expeditions 
and  was  thereby  skilled  in  its  management.  He 
launched  his  boat  into  the  ocean.  As  he  was 
steering  for  Cutty  hunk,  one  of  the  Elizabeth  Is 
lands,  to  consult  his  brother  about  future  plans, 
he  was  discovered  by  pirates,  who  chased  his  ves 
sel,  ran  it  down  and  captured  both  it  and  him. 

He  went  home  again  and  applied  to  his  brother 
David  for  materials  to  build  another  boat.  When 
the  boat  was  finished,  through  his  credit  (on  his 
respectability),  he  purchased  a  cargo  and  set  out 
for  Nantucket.  On  this  voyage,  he  was  again 
chased  by  pirates,  but  he  escaped  them  as  night 
came  on.  However,  his  boat  struck  upon  a  rock 
and  was  so  injured  that  he  had  to  return  home  for 
repairs.  As  soon  as  the  repairs  were  made,  he  set 
out  again  for  Nantucket  and  arrived  in  safety. 
On  his  return  trip,  however,  he  fell  into  the  hands 
of  pirates  and  was  robbed  of  all  he  had  except  his 
boat.  He  made  his  way  home,  secured  a  small 
cargo  and  again  directed  his  course  towards  Nan 
tucket,  where  he  sold  his  cargo  to  advantage. 

On  his  return  to  his  home  this  time,  he  secured 
a  small  covered  boat  of  about  twelve  tons,  hired 


PAUL  CUFFE  [  255 

some  one  to  assist  him,  and  made  advantageous 
voyages  to  different  parts  of  Connecticut. 

He  now  became  attached  to  a  young  woman — 
a  descendant  of  his  mother's  tribe — whom  he  mar 
ried.  After  his  marriage  he  worked  on  a  farm  for 
a  short  while,  then  removed  his  family  to  a  small 
house  on  the  Westport  River.  He  procured  a  boat 
of  eighteen  tons  in  which  he  sailed  to  the  banks  of 
St.  George,  obtained  a  valuable  cargo  of  codfish 
and  landed  at  home  safely. 

Cuffe  soon  entered  partnership  with  his 
brother-in-law  and  built  a  vessel  of  twenty-five 
tons,  in  which  they  made  voyages  to  Newfound 
land  and  Belle  Isle,  securing  profits  enough  to 
build  a  vessel  of  forty-two  tons. 

After  the  death  of  Cuffe's  father  he  learned  to 
read,  write  and  do  some  arithmetic  and  yet  he  of  ten 
said,  "I  would  have  made  fewer  mistakes  and  a 
great  deal  more  money  had  I  been  an  educated 
man."  He  called  the  people  of  his  neighborhood 
together  and  spoke  to  them  on  the  need  of  a 
schoolhouse  and  a  teacher  for  their  children.  No 
two  of  the  parents  seemed  to  agree  on  anything. 
They  talked  and  discussed  and  separated,  each 
going  to  his  own  home.  Paul  Cuffe  took  the  mat 
ter  into  his  own  hands,  erected  a  schoolhouse  on 
his  own  land  and  opened  it  to  the  public. 


256  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

With  this  task  completed,  he  set  out  to  the 
Straits  of  Belle  Isle  on  a  whaling  expedition,  with 
two  boats  and  ten  men.  Although  he  was  ill  pre 
pared  for  the  business,  he  and  his  crew  killed  six 
whales;  two  of  which  died  at  Paul's  own  hands. 
In  due  season  he  returned  home  heavily  laden 
with  bone  and  oil. 

After  selling  his  cargo,  he  bought  iron  and 
other  materials,  built  a  schooner  of  sixty-nine 
tons  and  launched  it,  in  1795,  under  the  name  of 
"The  Ranger".  He  sold  his  two  boats  and  placed 
on  board  "The  Ranger",  which  was  manned  by  a 
black  crew,  a  cargo  valued  at  two  thousand  dol 
lars,  and  sailed  for  Norfolk,  Virginia.  This  trip 
and  similar  ones  brought  him  handsome  returns. 

With  some  of  this  money  he  bought  a  farm 
and  placed  it  under  the  management  of  his  broth 
er-in-law.  He  also  took  one-half  share  in  building 
and  fitting  out  a  large  vessel,  and  three- fourths' 
share  in  building  and  fitting  out  still  a  larger  one. 
One  of  these  vessels,  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-two 
tons  burden,  was  commanded  by  Paul  Cuffe's 
nephew.  The  other  one,  "The  Alpha"  by  name, 
of  two  hundred  and  sixty-eight  tons,  was  com 
manded  by  Paul  Cuffe  himself,  with  seven  other 
Negroes  making  up  the  crew. 

In  1811,  Paul  Cuffe  and  his  crew,  in  command 


PAUL  CUFFE  [257 

of  "The  Alpha"  sailed  for  Sierra  Leone,  Africa. 
After  many  days  of  travel  and  stormy  sea,  they 
arrived  in  Sierra  Leone.  Cuffe,  attended  by  sev 
eral  natives,  made  his  way  to  the  governor's  office, 
where  he  remained  for  a  long  conversation  and 
visit  with  the  Governor. 

Following  this,  he  entered  into  many  of  the 
natives'  experiences.  He  put  on  armor  and  went 
elephant-hunting  with  them.  Once  he  joined  a 
party  on  a  leopard  hunt.  One  of  the  party  said  in 
his  native  tongue,  "These  leopards  go  about  in 
pairs,  and  sometimes  raid  farms  and  carry  off 
young  children  and  chickens  after  dark.  They 
step  rather  softly,  steal  upon  one  and  attack  him 
in  the  back".  When  the  party  reached  a  certain 
spot,  every  one  stopped.  Some  of  them  proceeded 
to  drive  down  two  posts.  Others  loaded  a  long- 
range  gun  heavily  and  fastened  it  to  these  posts 
with  the  butt  end  resting  on  the  posts  and  the 
muzzle  about  two  feet  from  them.  Then  they 
placed  a  big  piece  of  meat  around  the  muzzle  of 
the  gun  and  drew  a  strong  string  round  one  of 
the  posts  connecting  the  meat  to  the  trigger.  All 
was  in  readiness  now  for  Mr.  Leopard;  and  so 
the  party  left  the  spot.  After  a  long  wait  a  leopard 
came  walking  softly  by  and  sniffing  around.  He 
walked  up  to  the  meat  to  take  a  bite.  "Pow", 


258  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

went  the  rifle.  The  leopard  fell  dead.  Paul  Cuffe 
and  his  party  came  out  from  their  hiding  place, 
and  stood  around  looking  at  the  beast. 

Cuffe  seemed  very  busy,  even  on  such  trips, 
studying  the  needs  of  natives  and  planning  how 
the  people  in  London  might  help  them.  One  morn 
ing  a  monkey  party  came  to  take  him  along.  He 
could  not  resist  the  invitation.  Every  one  in  the 
party  had  a  sword  or  a  stick.  Several  monkeys 
were  caught  that  day  and  brought  in  tied  hand 
and  foot  and  hung  on  poles.  The  suckling  ones 
were  carried  clinging  underneath  their  mothers' 
bodies.  Cuffe  continued  to  study  the  natives  and 
finally  recommended  to  the  Governor  that  they 
form  ''The  Friendly  Society  of  Sierra  Leone"  as 
a  help  to  the  people. 

After  this  was  done,  he  went  to  England  on 
two  trips.  Then  he  returned  to  the  United  States 
in  order  to  get  teachers  to  take  back  with  him,  but 
the  War  of  1812  broke  out,  and  his  plans  were 
delayed.  For  several  years  he  had  to  remain  in 
the  United  States.  All  this  time,  however,  he 
was  arranging  to  take  teachers  to  Sierra  Leone. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  year  1815,  he  sailed  with 
thirty-eight  teachers  for  Sierra  Leone.  For  fifty- 
five  days  they  were  tossed  and  driven  on  the  ocean. 
Even  African  soil,  they  said,  was  a  welcome  sight 


PAUL  CUFFE  [259 

to  them.  They  finally  reached  their  destination 
safely.  Cuffe  bore  the  entire  expense  of  the  trip. 

He  remained  in  Sierra  Leone  two  months,  dur 
ing  which  time  he  wrote  a  very  touching  letter  to 
the  natives.  It  is  said  that  his  departure  from  them 
was  like  that  of  a  father  taking  leave  of  his 
children. 

Cuffe  returned  to  his  own  country,  where  he 
became  ill  early  in  1817.  From  then  until  the  day 
of  his  death,  on  the  seventh  of  the  following  Sep 
tember,  he  was  busy  writing  letters  and  making 
friends  for  the  natives  of  Sierra  Leone.  Some  one 
has  said  that  he  devoted  even  the  thoughts  of 
his  dying  pillow  to  the  interests  of  the  African 
people. 


ALEXANDER  CRUMMELL 


Chapter  XVI 

ALEXANDER  CRUMMELL 

MINISTER  AND  MISSIONARY 
1819-1898 

ONE  moonlight  night  about  eighty- four  years 
ago,  a  stage-coach  rattled  along  from  Han 
over,  New  Hampshire,  towards  Albany,  New 
York.  Away  up  on  the  top  of  this  stage-coach, 
sat  two  fast  friends,  Alexander  Crummell  and 
Henry  Highland  Garnet,  and  twelve  other  Negro 
boys.  Apparently  not  even  the  rattle  of  the  stage 
coach  wheels,  or  the  jingle  of  the  traces,  or  the 
hoot  of  an  owl  far  off  in  the  woods,  disturbed  their 
thoughts.  It  is  true,  they  had  been  riding  all  day 
and  had  been  under  excitement  for  two  days  be 
fore  they  left  the  little  town  of  Canaan  near 
Hanover,  but  they  neither  slept  nor  stirred. 

A  thoughtless  gang  of  Canaan  boys  had  yoked 
about  one  hundred  and  ninety  oxen  together  and 
driven  them  up  to  the  little  schoolhouse.  Here  and 
there,  one  ox  tried  to  go  one  way  while  his  mate 
tried  to  go  the  other  way,  but  several  yoke  of 
them  did  team-work.  They  later  bowed  their  necks 
and  chased  off  through  the  woods,  with  the  boys 

[263] 


264  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

swinging  to  the  lines  and  bumping  against  stumps 
and  logs  and  trees.  Finally,  with  the  assistance 
of  big  boys,  these  unruly  animals  were  brought 
back  to  the  schoolhouse,  to  which  the  oxen  were 
hitched. 

At  the  crack  of  many  long  whips  and  the  sound 
of  loud  calls,  "Get  up  there,  now!  Pull  steady", 
the  oxen  gave  a  mighty  pull,  and  the  sides  of  the 
little  schoolhouse  began  to  crack. 

After  two  days  of  being  pulled  and  pushed 
about,  the  little  schoolhouse  tottered  into  the 
swamp.  The  village  boys,  who  had  declared  they 
would  not  let  the  Negro  boys  remain  there  and  go 
to  school,  gave  a  cheer  and  a  whoop.  Still  more 
excitement  followed  until  Crummell  and  his 
friends  took  the  stage-coach  en  route  for  their 
homes. 

This  bitter  experience  seemed  only  to  sharpen 
Crummeirs  desire  for  an  education.  In  a  few 
months,  he  was  off  again  to  a  school  some  distance 
from  New  York  City — his  birthplace  and  home. 
After  his  graduation  from  that  school,  a  cere 
mony  was  performed  and  he  became  a  priest  in  the 
Episcopal  Church. 

He  worked  at  home  a  while,  and  then  crossed 
the  Atlantic  Ocean  and  preached  throughout 
England.  While  he  was  there,  he  entered  a  great 


ALEXANDER  CRUMMELL  [265 

university  known  as  Cambridge  University,  from 
which  he  was  graduated  at  the  age  of  thirty-four. 

Crummell  often  spoke  of  wishing  to  return  to 
the  United  States  to  see  his  family  and  friends, 
but  because  of  poor  health,  he  went  to  Africa  to 
do  missionary  work  and,  as  he  said,  to  die.  Strange 
to  say,  the  hot  climate  and  the  African  fever 
seemed  to  disturb  him  not  at  all ;  in  fact,  his  health 
improved. 

For  twenty  years,  he  remained  there  and 
preached  to  the  people,  and  taught  in  the  Liberian 
College.  The  natives  often  asked  why  he  kept 
at  his  writing  so  closely.  Later  they  discovered 
that  he  was  writing  a  book  called  "The  Future 
of  Africa". 

During  his  twenty  years  in  Africa,  he  made 
only  two  visits  to  the  United  States.  In  1873  he 
returned  for  good  and  took  charge  of  an  Epis 
copal  Mission  in  Washington,  D.  C.  He  presided 
over  this  Mission,  which  developed  into  what  is 
now  St.  Luke's  Church,  for  twenty-two  years. 
Often  during  these  years,  he  went  by  invitation  to 
the  leading  cities  of  the  country,  either  to  preach 
or  to  give  lectures.  In  1896,  he  founded  "The 
American  Negro  Academy"  at  Washington, 
D.  C.,  and  gave  some  lectures  before  this  or 
ganization. 


266  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

He  was  a  striking  character,  tall,  erect  and  of 
noble  carriage.  He  was  dignified  and  fearless  in 
manner,  yet  easy  to  approach. 

During  the  last  year  of  his  life,  he  worked  at 
his  desk  from  six  to  seven  hours  every  day,  when 
he  was  able  to  write.  Finally,  for  a  little  change, 
he  went  to  Point  Pleasant,  New  Jersey,  and  while 
there,  passed  away  on  the  tenth  of  September, 
1898.  Just  a  few  hours  before  his  death,  he  dic 
tated  a  letter  to  Paul  Laurence  Dunbar  on  the 
philosophy  of  poetry. 


JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON 


Chapter  XVII 

JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON 

SCHOLAR  AND  CONGRESSMAN 
1829-1897 

JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON  was  a  frail 
J  child,  only  four  years  old,  when  his  father  and 
mother  died.  According  to  the  will  of  his  father, 
Captain  Quarrels,  he  and  his  two  brothers  were 
to  have  all  of  their  father's  land,  lying  on  Hickory 
Creek  in  Louisa  County,  Virginia.  They  were 
to  have  all  of  his  stock  of  horses,  cattle,  sheep  and 
bees,  together  with  household  and  kitchen  furni 
ture  and  plantation  utensils.  They  were  also  to 
have  all  of  his  money,  in  cash  or  in  the  form  of 
debts  due  or  bank  stocks.  Provision  was  made  in 
Captain  Quarrels's  will  for  selling  his  property 
and  dividing  the  money  among  John  Mercer  and 
his  other  boys,  should  they  leave  Louisa  County. 

The  time  came  when  this  provision  in  the  will 
was  to  be  carried  out.  John  Mercer  and  his  broth 
ers,  with  their  attendants,  remained  in  Louisa 
County  two  months  after  their  father's  death,  get 
ting  ready  to  start  for  Ohio. 

During  this  period  of  preparation,  they  secured 

[269] 


270  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

the  proper  papers  to  take  on  such  a  journey.  They 
and  their  attendants  obtained  a  carry-all — a  light 
wagon  with  horses  and  harness — and  set  out  early 
one  October  morning,  in  1834,  to  what  was  then 
known  as  a  far-away  state — Ohio.  The  road  over 
which  they  traveled  was  mountainous  and  fre 
quently  broken  by  small  swollen  streams  which 
they  had  to  ford,  and  rivers  which  they  had  to 
cross  by  means  of  crude  ferries.  However,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  cause  for  anxiety  except  for  little, 
frail  John  Mercer. 

They  continued  their  journey  for  one  week, 
traveling  by  day  and  pitching  their  tents  at  night. 
One  evening  while  some  one  was  unhitching  the 
horses,  and  two  of  them  were  pitching  the  tent, 
and  John  Mercer  and  the  rest  of  them  were  bring 
ing  water  from  a  nearby  stream,  a  man  on  horse 
back  with  saddle  bags  came  down  the  highway. 
The  older  Langston  boys,  recognizing  him  as  their 
half-brother,  whom  their  father  had  sent  to  Ohio 
long  before  his  death,  ran  to  meet  him.  Little 
John  Mercer,  whom  he  had  never  seen  before,  he 
took  up  in  his  arms,  caressed  him  and  looked  at 
him,  saying,  "My!  but  you  are  like  my  dear 
mother,  Lucy  Langston!  You  have  in  a  marked 
degree  her  Indian  family  likeness!"  All  of  the 
boys  made  their  way  to  the  tent.  The  night  passed. 


JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON  [  271 

The  next  day  as  the  party  proceeded  on  its 
journey,  the  half-brother  shortened  the  stirrup 
leathers  of  his  saddle  to  fit  John  Mercer's  legs, 
and  put  him  in  his  saddle.  John  Mercer  took  hold 
of  the  bridle  reins  timidly,  but  soon  began  to 
knock  his  little  legs  against  the  sides  of  the  horse, 
saying,  "Get  up,  sir".  At  length,  he  seemed  weary 
and  was  again  taken  into  the  battered  carry-all. 
They  traveled  on  for  two  weeks  longer,  until  they 
reached  Chillicothe,  Ohio. 

John  Mercer  was  taken  to  the  home  of  Colonel 
Gooch,  who  once  on  a  visit  to  Captain  Quarrels, 
had  promised  that  when  John  Mercer  came  to 
Ohio  he  would  care  for  him  and  educate  him. 
John  Mercer  was  given  a  hot  bath,  his  clothing 
was  changed,  and  a  chair  was  placed  at  the  table 
for  him  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Gooch.  He  ate  heart 
ily,  romped  and  played,  and  grew  rapidly  under 
the  kind  treatment  of  the  Gooch  family.  Soon  he 
was  known  to  the  neighbors  as  "Johnnie  Gooch". 

Four  years  for  him  in  the  Gooch  home  passed. 
One  beautiful  Monday  morning,  in  1837,  he,  with 
his  little  new  dinner-pail  in  one  hand,  and  his  book 
in  the  other,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Gooch,  started 
out  to  school.  Clad  in  his  neat  dress  of  round 
about  and  pants  of  Kentucky  blue  jeans,  he  and 


272  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Mr.  Gooch  trudged  along  until  they  reached  the 
schoolhouse. 

John  Mercer  was  soon  assigned  to  his  class  and 
his  seat.  As  he  sat  upon  the  high  seat  without  a 
back,  he  almost  toppled  over  backwards.  Then, 
apparently  afraid  of  falling  backwards,  he  leaned 
so  far  forward  that  he  fell  over  on  his  nose.  He 
twisted  and  turned  on  the  tiresome  seat  for  sev 
eral  days,  then  told  his  teacher  that  he  was  needed 
at  home  at  two  o'clock  every  day  to  drive  up  the 
cows.  For  one  week  he  went  home  every  day  at 
two  o'clock.  Mr.  Gooch  asked  the  reason  for  John 
Mercer's  early  arrival  home  every  day,  and  in 
formed  the  teacher  that  John  Mercer's  whole 
business  was  to  attend  school. 

Many  agents  were  in  Chillicothe  at  this  time 
telling  of  the  rich  farm  land  in  Missouri  that  could 
be  bought  very  cheaply.  The  Gooch  family  was 
among  the  old  residents  who  were  selling  out  and 
preparing  to  leave  for  Missouri.  They  chartered 
a  canal-boat  and  a  steamboat  for  moving  their 
things,  and  planned  for  a  wagon  and  team  to 
take  the  family  across  the  country.  Mr.  Gooch 
called  John  Mercer  in  and  asked  if  he  wished  to 
go  with  them.  John  Mercer  replied,  "I  do,  Colonel 
Gooch". 

"Then  you  shall  go",  said  the  colonel. 


JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON  [  273 

When  everything  was  in  readiness,  the  family 
set  out  one  night  on  their  journey.  The  next 
morning,  John  Mercer  spied  two  objects  in  the 
distance  coming  towards  them.  As  they  ap 
proached,  he  saw  that  they  were  two  men,  and  one 
of  them  was  his  half-brother.  The  other  gentle 
man  made  himself  known  at  once  as  the  sheriff, 
who  had  come  to  arrest  Colonel  Gooch  for  kid 
napping  John  Mercer.  Colonel  Gooch,  obeying 
orders,  saddled  his  horse,  took  John  Mercer  up 
behind  him  and  rode  with  the  men  back  to  Chilli- 
cothe.  The  court  ruled  that  John  Mercer  should 
be  left  there. 

Upon  the  advice  of  some  one,  he  returned  to  the 
old  Gooch  home  and  farm,  which  were  now  in  the 
hands  of  another.  The  first  question  the  man 
asked  was,  "What,  sir,  can  you  do?" 

John  Mercer  promptly  answered,  "I  can't  do 
anything". 

The  farmer  then  asked,  "How  do  you  expect  to 
live?  Get  the  horse  and  cart  out  and  haul  those 
bricks  up  from  the  distant  field".  John  Mercer 
started  forth  to  try  to  hitch  the  horse  to  the  cart 
and  to  haul  the  bricks. 

The  third  day,  the  farmer  said,  "You  are  doing 
well,  and  if  you  continue,  you  will  make  a  good 
driver".  The  boy  not  only  hauled  bricks,  but  he 


274  ]  UNSUNG  HEEOES 

plowed  and  hoed  and  became  strong  and  healthy. 

On  leaving  the  farmer,  he  went  to  Cincinnati, 
Ohio,  and  secured  work  for  afternoons  and  Sat 
urdays,  in  a  barber  shop.  Thus  was  he  soon  able 
to  enter  school  .in  that  city.  One  day  as  he  sat 
with  his  class,  studying  his  lesson,  a  man  appeared 
at  the  door  and  asked  for  him.  His  teacher  said, 
"John  Mercer  may  go  to  the  door.  Some  one 
wishes  to  see  him".  He  arose  and  walked  forth. 
At  the  sight  of  Colonel  Gooch,  who  had  sought 
him  in  Chillicothe  and  had  come  on  to  Cincinnati, 
he  leaped  out  of  the  door  and  grasped  his  hand. 
They  talked  for  a  long,  long  time.  Mr.  Gooch 
kissed  him  good-bye,  and  John  Mercer  promised 
to  join  him  in  Missouri  later  on. 

John  Mercer's  two  years'  stay  in  Cincinnati 
was  interrupted  by  a  call  to  Chillicothe,  on  busi 
ness  connected  with  his  father's  estate.  While  he 
was  on  this  trip,  he  met  an  Oberlin  College  stu 
dent  who  was  teaching  in  Chillicothe,  and  who 
agreed  to  give  him  lessons.  He  studied  under  this 
teacher  until  his  brothers  agreed  to  send  him  to 
Oberlin  College. 

On  Thursday  morning,  March  1,  1844,  he  and 
his  teacher  left  Chillicothe  for  Oberlin.  When 
they  arrived  the  following  Sunday  morning,  they 
saw  hundreds  of  college  students  making  their 


JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON  [  275 

way  through  the  muddy  streets  to  early  prayer 
service  and  Sunday  School.  Lodging  for  the 
'night  was  secured  in  the  only  hotel  then  in  Ober- 
lin.  The  next  day  John  Mercer  registered  and 
was  taken  to  the  home  in  which  he  was  to  live. 

Seeing  how  busy  every  one  about  the  college 
was,  he  secured  his  books  and  settled  down  to  hard 
study.  Before  many  weeks  had  passed,  he  was  in 
vited  to  join  two  college  clubs — "The  Young 
Men's  Lyceum"  and  "The  Union  Society".  Be 
cause  of  having  friends  in  "the  Union  Society", 
he  joined  it,  and  was  immediately  called  upon  to 
take  part  in  a  debate. 

On  the  evening  of  the  debate,  a  very  capable 
young  man  came  forward  as  the  first  speaker. 
When  he  had  finished,  another  young  man  was 
called  forth.  He,  too,  presented  his  side  of  the 
question  in  a  convincing  manner.  John  Mercer 
Langston  was  called  upon  as  the  third  speaker. 
He  came  forward,  took  his  place  on  the  platform 
and  said,  "Mr.  President — Mr.  President".  He 
stood  there  unable  to  say  another  word.  Finally 
he  rushed  to  his  seat  and  began  to  cry.  He  wiped 
away  the  copious  tears  until  his  handkerchief,  his 
cap  and  his  coat  sleeve  were  soaking  wet.  Then  he 
hurried  to  his  room,  threw  himself  on  the  bed  and 
cried  until  his  pillow  was  wet  through.  The  next 


276  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

morning,  he  arose  with  his  face  and  eyes  all  swol 
len.  As  he  stood  before  his  little  mirror,  he  held 
up  his  hands  to  God,  with  the  vow  that  he  would 
never  fail  again  in  making  a  speech.  When  friends 
sympathized  with  him,  he  said,  "I  thank  you,  but 
never  mind". 

After  leaving  breakfast,  as  John  Mercer 
walked  up  the  street,  he  met  a  friend  who  said  he 
was  called  home.  Immediately  he  asked  John 
Mercer  to  take  his  place  in  the  Society  debate  the 
next  Thursday  evening.  He  agreed  at  once  and 
began  to  get  ready  for  the  debate.  Thursday 
evening  came;  the  hall  was  full  of  young  men. 
When  John  Mercer  was  called  forth,  he  took  his 
place,  addressed  the  presiding  officer  and  spoke 
his  ten  minutes  amid  applause.  Some  young  man 
called  out,  "Mr.  President,  I  move  by  common 
consent  that  Langston  be  given  ten  minutes 
more".  The  motion  was  carried  and  Langston 
spoke  ten  minutes  more,  interrupted  by  frequent 
applause. 

He  remained  in  college  to  the  end  of  the  fall 
term,  and  returned  to  Chillicothe.  No  sooner  had 
he  arrived,  than  a  committee  called  upon  him  to 
get  him  to  teach  school.  Hicks  Settlement,  eight 
miles  in  the  country,  needed  a  teacher.  The  com 
mittee  offered  him  ten  dollars  a  month — and 


JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON  [  277 

"board  around".  He  accepted  the  position,  al 
though  he  was  not  quite  sixteen  years  old.  When 
he  reached  the  schoolhouse  the  first  morning,  he 
says  that  he  was  more  greatly  surprised  perhaps 
than  any  one  else,  because  he  was  smaller  than 
any  of  the  pupils  except  one. 

"Boarding  around"  had  its  surprises,  too. 
Every  week  he  stayed  with  a  different  family,  and 
each  family  tried  to  outdo  the  preceding  ones  in 
furnishing  him  good  things  to  eat.  Sometimes  he 
just  had  to  eat  and  eat  until  he  felt  like  a  stuffed 
goose.  Finally  he  made  arrangements  with  a 
man  to  give  him  and  his  son  lessons  and  thereby 
obtain  from  them  board  and  lodging  for  himself 
and  his  horse.  At  the  end  of  every  month,  the 
school  committee  waited  upon  him  and  counted 
out  to  him  his  ten  dollars  in  five  and  ten-cent 
pieces. 

When  Langston's  three  months  at  Hicks  Set 
tlement  were  up,  he  sat  down  with  his  bag  of  five- 
and  ten-cent  pieces  and  counted  out  the  thirty 
dollars.  Before  many  days  had  passed,  he  was  on 
his  way  back  to  Oberlin  College. 

He  entered  and  worked  hard  for  four  years, 
graduating  at  the  age  of  twenty  as  a  Bachelor  of 
Arts — "B.A."  He  continued  his  studies  at  Ober 
lin  and  received  his  Master's  degree — "M.A." 


278  ]  UNSUNG  HEROES 

Three  years  later,  he  was  graduated  from  the 
Oberlin  Theological  Seminary  as  a  Bachelor  of 
Divinity — "B.D."  He  remained  in  Oberlin  and 
studied  law  under  a  prominent  judge.  When  he 
had  finished  this  course,  he  passed  his  examina 
tions  and  under  great  odds  was  admitted  to  the 
bar  in  Ohio,  where  he  practiced  for  a  time  and  won 
notable  cases. 

He  often  said,  in  later  years,  that  around  Ober 
lin  College  centered  many  happy  memories.  He 
courted  and  married  an  Oberlin  College  girl  by 
the  name  of  Miss  Wall.  He  settled  in  Oberlin 
and  practiced  law  there  until  the  bloody  Civil 
War. 

At  that  time,  the  United  States  was  calling  to 
her  aid  the  ablest  men  she  could  find.  John  Mercer 
Langston  was  among  those  called.  He  responded 
immediately  and  began  to  travel  over  the  West 
and  the  North  getting  men  for  the  army.  He 
secured  them  for  three  regiments — the  Fifty- 
fourth  and  Fifty-fifth  Massachusetts  and  the 
Fifth  United  States  of  Ohio.  After  the  war  he 
continued  to  travel  for  the  Government  for  two 
years  and  a  half,  helping  the  people  organize 
schools  for  their  children. 

When  that  work  was  finished,  Howard  Univer 
sity  called  him  to  organize  her  Law  Department. 


JOHN  MERCER  LANGSTON  [  279 

For  seven  years  he  taught  in  that  Department, 
and  served  for  a  time  as  Acting  President  of  the 
'University.  He  was  admitted  to  practice  law 
before  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States. 
And  the  President  of  the  United  States  appointed 
him  a  member  of  the  Board  of  Health  of  the  Dis 
trict  of  Columbia. 

Later  on,  another  President  appointed  him 
Minister  to  Hayti,  at  a  salary  of  $7,500  a  year. 
After  serving  on  that  island  for  seven  years,  he 
returned  to  the  United  States  and  soon  afterward 
was  elected  President  of  the  Virginia  State  Col 
lege  at  Petersburg.  The  state  of  Virginia  claimed 
him  as  her  own  son.  She  honored  him  as  a  scholar 
ly  man.  She  elected  him  to  the  United  States 
House  of  Representatives,  in  which  he  took  his 
seat  in  1890. 

His  last  years  were  spent  with  his  family  at  his 
home  on  College  Street,  Washington,  District  of 
Columbia.  Before  his  death,  November  15,  1897, 
he  published  a  book  of  addresses  called  "Freedom 
and  Citizenship". 


E/85 

.% 

4"// 

/92I 


